


something old, something new

by notthelasttime



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Arranged Marriage, Denial of Feelings, Explicit Sexual Content, FFXV Rarepair Big Bang, Fake Marriage, M/M, Mutual Pining, no werthers were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthelasttime/pseuds/notthelasttime
Summary: It starts with a demand from Niflheim.Followed by slander and public outcries for justice, a slew of headlines and paparazzi biting at the heels of anyone stepping out of the Citadel.It ends with a marriage.Or ended- in theory. It’s a little different for Ignis when he’s tied to someone he’s barely known on a personal level from now until the end of the foreseeable future.Cor was an anchor, meant to keep him in place. He was also a shield, something thrown up to protect Ignis in a desperate hour, but like a shield he was every bit an impenetrable, should Ignis have tried to breach his armor.How do you get your husband to fall in love with you?
Relationships: Cor Leonis/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 43
Kudos: 86
Collections: FFXV Rarepair Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my contribution to the rarepair big bang!!  
> this was a ton of fun to work on- thank you so much to [He6o](https://twitter.com/He6o) for partnering with me for this! (art will be embedded in a hot second)
> 
> and another huge thank you to the event mods, who kept things running smoothly, and all the other participants for sharing such fantastic stuff. be sure to check out the other works in the collection!

It started with a demand from Niflheim.

Included in a long list of other political offerings and dealings, read off in a droning voice from a representative of the Empire, standing remote and tall in front of the full Council, as these things were always done. The war was hot and cold; battles springing up in a flurry of violence before calming back down into a lull, but the two parties were as close to a standstill as they could come. Niflheim had no way forward, but Lucis had no way out. Thus the call for a cease fire; proposed treaties for de-escalation, maybe even for peace (or for surrender). They’d been back and forth for months, battlefields quiet but troops standing ready, and finally progress might have been close enough to taste. Real terms and agreements that weren’t a joke to Lucian pride, but the fear was always on the fringes. That no matter the terms it would never be enough until Insomnia fell.

“...And lastly, his Emperor of Niflheim, Iedolas Aldercapt, demands the return of one, Ignis Scientia, to his proper homeland of Tenebrae, released from his servitude to King Regis where he has been held captive and manipulated against his will since childhood.”

Had a pin dropped it would have been heard in every corner of the Council room. But as it was there were no pins and there was no dropping, just a stunned silence; waiting, hovering on the brink of chaos as everyone waited for someone else- _anyone_ else, to speak.

_Me?_

Had Ignis found his voice it would have been no more than a mouse’s squeak, a mortifying embarrassment when he’d spent the past _years_ trying to prove himself as something more than a child. Someone to be taken seriously while they all bickered about war and peace and diplomacy. He was someone important, right? He would ask himself on late nights during lonely hours spent cramming in just one more report to read, just one more email to answer. He served Noctis. His brother, the boy turning into a man that he would oversee from behind the throne, giving him the most level and best advice that he could. He was important. Even if he’d never felt particularly important while scribbling down notes from the corner of the room. He was apparently important enough to get tangled up in Niflheim’s web.

All eyes were on him. He opened his mouth to speak

“ _No_.”

King Regis beat him to it, and with a single word the attention was drawn to him. Regis stood. And all eyes followed the movement, waiting on him to add to his retort. All eyes except Cor Leonis. The Marshal. Whose icey gaze and barely contained furious expression lingered on Ignis for a moment too long before he turned away, leaving Ignis feeling panicked and alone.

“Had I known this request for peace was to be yet another Niflheim farce, I would never have called the Council here to listen to these ridiculous demands.” The King was more upset that Ignis had seen in a very long time, even as much as he was trying to hide it. That wasn’t good. It wouldn’t do for Niflheim to see they had gotten under his skin.

The Ambassador rolled up the proposed negotiations held in his hands. “Your Majesty-”

“I will hear no more.” Regis waved him away, a dismissive gesture of his hand. “Return only when Niflheim is serious about maintaining peace instead of laying down insulting terms and offensive proclamations. I’ve nothing to say to the Emperor until then.”

The Ambassador left with a bow, but he did not take the tension in the air with him, and Ignis felt every run of eyes on him like a caress. A most unwanted touch, one that made his skin crawl and his face burn hot.

_Why him?_

What had he done to call the Emperor’s attention in such a matter? Every thought made him more uncomfortable than the last, but he settled into the knowledge that King Regis would defend him and protect him. A lifeline, that quick dismissal, the King’s lingering disapproval, and quite possibly the only thing keeping Ignis from losing total control in that moment. This was not something he’d been trained to handle.

One demand. It wasn’t as if Niflheim hadn’t proposed ridiculous measures before, brushed away by the Kind and Council one by one, never to be brought up again. The answer was no, surely it wouldn’t come up again.

Or so Ignis told himself, flustered and gathering his papers as they were dismissed with the King storming out of the room. The answer was no, and as far as Lucis was concerned that was the end of it. A mysterious demand that Ignis could not puzzle out, and perhaps, to never be deciphered by anyone, and he decided he was ok with that. Only so as long as it never came up again.

That should have been the end of it.

* * *

That wasn’t the end of it.

Request denied, not up for discussion or negotiation, a firm and solid negative answer from the King and his men. But the Niffs were a dog with a bone, especially given the evidence that they’d found just the right spot to _prick_.

There was an infuriating logic to it, that Ignis could finally see when he was not nose deep in the center of it, wide eyed and scared. Sending Ignis away would foster bad blood. A way of sewing instability within Royal ranks. A way of weakening the future of Lucis. A clever ploy, maybe, but an obvious one, that the King has seen through in moments, and they could not have expected him to comply by any stretch of the imagination. That would have been ridiculous to believe, even by the Emperor’s standards. 

So case closed then. Back to negotiations and puzzling out how to bring the damned war to heel.

Or so Ignis thought.

The Niffs decided to go to the press.

**_IGNIS SCIENTIA: ROYAL CHAMBERLAIN, OR LUCIAN CAPTIVE?_ **

The headline stared up at Ignis from his desk first thing in the morning. Plastered on the front was an unflattering grainy photo of him, taken years ago during one of the King’s speeches where he’d stood in the background, serious and utterly forgettable in his old glasses and grey suit. He could not have looked more cold and closed off, a photograph that was chosen by design, out of all the recent media pictures of him smiling for the camera, shaking hands with important people, in his best suits, giving warm welcomes. No, they were pushing a narrative here. Not so much that they cared for Ignis in particular, nor did they necessarily think that Niflheim was in the right, only that the scandal would help papers sell.

Or, maybe someone out there thought handing Ignis over would truly end the war after all these years. That he would be a worthy sacrifice.

Ignis’s stomach twisted at the thought. 

Going to the media was a political tactic, plain and simple. He’d seen it done before, ruthless regimes pushing their agenda through the public. Because if there was enough of an outcry, if the citizens got loud and angry, if tension threatened to swallow them whole, then King Regis could only carry his own conflicting agenda so far. The mistake Ignis had made was thinking that Niflheim wouldn’t stoop to these kinds of tactics inside the Crown City. What they did in Gralea with their own propaganda and publications was a different matter entirely. But here, in Insomnia? Where they didn’t even have the home advantage? It had been such a ridiculous notion he’d never even stopped to consider the possibility that one of the ambassadors might slip information to a news outlet. He never considered that he might be the one put on blast. 

Because he was Ignis Scientia. A nobody, all things considered. One of the many royal servants that inhabited the Citadel, but not even of Royal blood. Close to Prince Noctis, to be sure, but he himself was unremarkable. Utterly forgettable. 

And all that much easier to be disliked by a public that was tired of this war and these negotiations. People that would rather sacrifice some out of touch advisor for their own sake than have to deal with the constant threats of turmoil, sending their sons and daughters to war, only to come back scarred if they came back at all. 

Ignis took off his glasses and rubbed at his temples, the front page accusation blurring in his vision. This was not the sort of problem he knew how to deal with. Not when it was him on the front page, a mere tool in someone else’s hands, orchestrating the symphony of discord. He would likely be advised to issue a written statement on the matter, and Ignis was quick to begin drafting one in his head amid the rest of his spinning thoughts. It was a familiar exercise at least, even if he was usually doing these things on behalf of Noctis, hidden in the shadows where he could stay the formless guiding presence, outside the glare of the spotlight.

But he could _handle_ this. All those years of studies and political involvement were not about to go to waste, awkward as these issues might be. At the sad end of things, this was just one of hundreds of other machinations from Niflheim, and it would blow over with all the rest. The _Insomnia Inquirer_ wasn’t more than a step above a gossip rag anyway. There would be talk, he could minimize this, and in time it would all go away. 

He was the focus of three headlines the next morning, from other newspapers and magazines that didn’t take well to being outdone. _What is King Regis Hiding?_ Asked a glaring subtitle, calling into question the Citadel’s lack of response to the issue. Even worse, the controversy was covered by the _Eos Times_. Not just a local paper, but one that was distributed to citizens far beyond the reaches of the walls.

The Citadel had its own veritable army of press secretaries and public spokespeople in the case of these such events, but their main reach was Insomnia. And in scandals like these the people were never happy until they heard from the source of rumors themselves, and all Ignis wanted to do was curl up and hide under his desk. There were only so many unflattering photos and wildly off base speculations about his past and personality that he could handle, and he had never been one for the spotlight. He was good at his job precisely because he worked behind the scenes. Things were quickly spiraling into a nightmare.

And the worst was yet to come. That evening as he was leaving came the first glimpses of lurking reporters from the fringes of the parking lot, kept out by the security fence, but staring him down all the same. Normally the Citadel kept on good terms with the media, issued statements and held addresses to journalists with clearance and let them ask their questions and take pictures and broadcast video. It normally prevented this kind of thing- the creeping and leaching of information by nefarious means. Ignis was glad for the barricade between them now, tired and angry and simply wanting to go home. They would get nothing from him. Ignis kept his head down and sped off as fast as he could without looking reckless and opening himself to more criticism.

_No matter_ , he told himself with determined force, unlocking his door, kicking off his shoes and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. _No matter_ \- this would pass, he thought, deciding on opening a bottle of wine while he made dinner. Maybe it was only midweek but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He turned the tv on while he was cooking, a sad attempt at making the silence in his small apartment feel less oppressive. Normally the solitude didn’t bother him; he took solace in it. Enjoyed peace and quiet after so many busy days, but tonight he wanted company, even if it was only manufactured. 

He was halfway through his second glass (a dry white from a small winery in Accordo), the smell of sautéed garlic and shallots permeating the kitchen, when the TV managed to catch his attention. The news was running late night headlines, not usually the thing he paid attention to, but there was a guest on screen for an interview. One of the peace delegates from Niflheim and Ignis found himself walking forward, eyes fixed and growing unease in his stomach as he turned up the volume.

“… King’s silence on the matter says more than anything. As a territory of Niflheim, we have a moral obligation to question Lucis and demand justice on behalf of Tenebrae. Ignis Scientia is a prime example of a monarchy exerting its power and control over those helpless to fight. Indoctrinating children to guarantee a generation of loyal servants for the future King is not something our Empire will stand for, peace treaty or not.”

“Now, in the statement released by Mr. Scientia, he has emphatically declared a number of these claims to be false,” the news reporter posited, leading the interview along, two faces staring straight ahead from the split screen, looking directly into Ignis’s living room.

“I think in this situation Mr. Scientia’s word cannot be held at face value. This is a man that has been under Lucis’s thumb since he was a child, ripped from his homeland and exposed to one ideology only, one that unquestionably supports the King. I believe it’s also worth noting that Mr. Scientia released a written statement, rather than directly addressing the public as well. A statement that undoubtedly was first vetted by the council if not the King himself for approval before its release to the media.”

The reporter, serious and somber faced, treating this garbage as actual _news_ , had the gall to look at the diplomat and ask, “If you could make one request of King Regis right now, what would it be?”

And the Niflheim manipulator, playing off the bleeding hearts of Lucians who had long seen Tenebrae as an ally held captive, a symbol of the dangers of war, looked dead into the camera and said to his silent audience, “King Regis, I beg of you. Release Ignis Scientia from captivity. Let him go _home_.“

* * *

The next morning Ignis rose with a raging headache before his day even began, only due in part to the fact that he’d managed to finish off the full bottle of wine himself, dinner forgotten entirely as his appetite abandoned him. His mood darkened on the way to the Citadel as he jabbed through radio stations trying to find peace from his own name echoed back at him, until he gave up and sat in silence.

It would pass, Ignis told himself. It would all pass over just like every other Royal scandal he’d mitigated, about bastard children from the King, or Noctis being an illegitimate heir, or having a lovechild of his own (at age sixteen, no less). Conspiracy theories and outlandish ideas. Though these things hit different when he was on the other side, his own words useless against the onslaught. He didn’t want to admit the fact that this might be more serious than the rest. This was legitimate news outlets treating the story with unflinching seriousness, this was reputable diplomats speaking out, even with Niflheim the enemy, their status could not be dismissed. 

There were even more media flies buzzing around the Citadel that morning, camped out once again just outside the parking lot. It was becoming clear this wasn’t just going to blow over. Playing on sympathies and public pressure was smart. Just as smart as it was infuriating and more than anything Ignis wanted to yell at them all to leave him alone.

As he parked his car, a figure moved out from the Citadel and into the parking lot to meet him. Ignis first felt panic, then as he realized it was the Marshal walking towards him, his stomach clenched for an entirely different reason.

“No trouble, I hope?” Ignis asked as Cor approached, looking grim and fiercely protective, his eyes narrowed in the direction of shutter snaps and the lone brave reporter requesting a comment from behind the gate holding them back.

“Not yet,” Cor said, “and I plan deterring anything before it starts.”

Ignis offered his thanks, equal parts grateful and embarrassed that the Marshal had to take time out of his day to escort him to the building.

“Why me?” He found himself asking, more to himself than to Cor, a dejected and self pitying monologue, which was why he was surprised to get an answer.

“You’re smarter than that, Ignis,” Cor said. Ignis’s head snapped up in surprise but he could only hold the Marshals unflinching ice blue gaze for a few moments. “Niflheim knows they can’t draw this fighting out for much longer, but the Emperor won’t give up his quest for total domination so easily. He’ll be willing to play the long game, weaken Lucis from the inside out, crippling the future King by taking away one of his oldest friends and smartest advisors.”

“Me?” Ignis blinked in shock.

“You,” Cor confirmed, and then ushered Ignis inside.

At least those inside the Citadel could be trusted not to openly gawk, so many years spent in close proximity to the King tended to desensitize those from the gouache desire to rubberneck. That didn’t mean they weren’t talking though, and Ignis found his paranoia rising, wondering _how many think it’s better off to just hand me over? For the sake of the ceasefire? For peace?_

But that was all wishful thinking and delusional ignorance. Niflheim’s goal was never peace. But in desperate times, desperate people clung to what they wanted to believe.

He could fake being productive, even if Ignis’s mind was far away. They would figure this out. He knew King Regis would not relent, if not for his own feelings, then for those of his son, knowing Noctis would never stand for Ignis offered up like a lamb to the slaughter. It wasn’t the Caelums Ignis had to worry about- it was everyone else. It was the city turning on him and believing he was some kind of prisoner with no free will or feelings of his own. This would fade, he reminded himself, and tried to get to work.

That’s when he got the call.

It had been so tempting for Ignis to ignore his ringing phone, but now was hardly the time to start neglecting his duties, already under such dangerous scrutiny. He actually breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Gladio’s name on his phone, as if he no longer needed to worry about bad news. A mistake, of course, guided by his blind sense of false security.

“What can I do for you Glad-“

“Iggy you need to turn on the news, _now_.”

“I’m in the office,” Ignis huffed, so much easier to embrace irritation over rising panic.

“Then pull it up on your computer, they’re showing it everywhere.” Gladio sounded harried, voice loud competing with whatever background noise surrounded him. He must have been out. Some gut instinct told Ignis to ignore this and not add to his overburdened mind, but then again, he couldn’t turn away or run. Pretending he didn’t hear the alarm bells sound wouldn’t stop the fire.

“Very well,” he snapped, fully aware that Gladio shouldn’t have been on the receiving end of his anger, but misplaced feelings were the only way to let anything out. He couldn’t exactly single-handedly attack all of Niflheim. With a resigned sigh he unlocked his computer and pulled up Insomnia’s 24 hour news station.

_BREAKING._

The words in red on a banner across the top of the web page, and a stream of live coverage underneath, labeled: Tenebrae weighs in: Lady Lunafreya’s unplanned address _LIVE NOW_.

With the slow-motion trepidation one might feel when observing a car crash, Ignis turned up the volume and pressed play.

She spoke from a podium to a small crowd of people, lush greens and blooming flowers in the background, gentle breeze making Lady Lunafreya’s hair sway. She must have been making the address from the manor garden, and Ignis watched with a sort of detached fascination. Panic could come later once reality set in. For now he was thinking about a few lost memories from a childhood in Tenebrae. A place he had barely remembered and hardly felt any sort of connection to, beyond the few polite inquiries he received from time to time about his accent.

His mother and father telling him, _You’re going to Insomnia, Ignis. Be on your best behavior for your uncle_.

No hugs and kisses goodbye. But they made sure to pack his bag full of study materials and books from his tutor for the long train ride to Lucis.

“Long has Tenebrae stood as a connecting bridge between Niflheim and Lucis. Long have we called for peace between our two greatest allies.” Lunafreya looked solemn, which was perhaps an understatement. Pained may have described her better but Ignis was too dazed to think beyond her presented appearance into the shady tactics the Empire would have taken, their underhanded forced _suggestions_ that Luna aid them in their latest scheme. Ravus stood behind her looking grim and stern, but that has always been his default for as long as Ignis had been acquainted. There was no help to be found from him.

“This war has torn families apart from all regions. And while our nations will long carry the scars of our past, there are ways we can begin to heal.” Her blue eyes, clear and pleading on camera. A hostage in her own home, but all the viewers could see was Lady Lunafreya, the Oracle, strong leader making her statement. “King Regis,” she said, as if she was addressing him directly, “please. Ignis is a Tenebrae native, taking from his home at such a young age. It is a small request that we ask of you, to allow him to reunite with his family and his home, ripped away from him since childhood without a choice. We miss him so very much.”

The cell phone in his hand started ringing. Funny, he must have hung up on Gladio and didn’t even notice. Then the phone on his desk seconds later, loud and jarring in the small office. There would be people at his door soon, knocking to get in. To try and contain the crisis, to try and fix the dam after the water had already burst through and flooded everything around it.

Ignis put his head in his hands and he let them ring, unanswered.


	2. Chapter 2

The King’s private office was small, all things considered, particularly in comparison with the throne room, that massive hall that set the stage for grandeur and intimidation, where the King was undoubtedly a King, and not just a man. But here, behind the large and sturdy mahogany desk, the walls lines with bookshelves containing equal parts family heirloom and Lucian law and history, Regis was less the figure, more the person. Even with the arching ceiling and tall window pouring in sunlight behind him, the space could feel dangerously claustrophobic. Perfect for private meeting without an audience, and no risk of being overheard or having word turn to law within the throne room.

It was a room Cor was intimately familiar with, having been privy to many meetings there over the years. For the highest secrecy spy discussions and war planning. Or drinks with Cid and Weskam and the others, the one place Regis could simply _be_ , at times. But today, there was a prickling anxiety in the air of the room, an irregularity highlighted by the fact that Clarus was waiting outside the door and not in the room with them. Bad news. As everything has been bad news since those damned demands from the Niffs. But whatever discussion they were about to have, something that not even the Kings own Shield was invited to….

Cor was frowning. An expression that had felt etched into his face for a very long time.

“Your Majesty.”

“Cor, please.” He knew that voice, one of exasperation and his incessant formality even in private, but after the day the Kingdom had all the real fight was drained out of him. Regis waved towards the seat in front of him. “Sit. Please.”

Cor did as he was told.

It was only then that Regis let himself relax entirely, leaning back into his chair and letting out a sigh. Things were taking a toll on him, it didn’t take a keen eye or a close friend to know it. Cor would do what he could. He always did. But he was a soldier and these were not a soldier's times, during calls for peace and diplomacy, even despite the claws hidden within each proposal from the enemy.

“Tell me, my old friend… have you ever thought of getting married?”

“ _Marriage?_ ” Cor said back, with no small amount of surprise and skepticism. The caution signs were front and center in his head, enough battles survived and politicking witnessed that he knew this was going nowhere good. The only problem was, he didn’t know what that _nowhere good_ was.

“You must have considered it at some point, no? I thought you might consider finally settling down in your old age, given what a spitfire you always were. We all long for stability at some point in our lives, wouldn’t you agree?”

Cor wasn’t fooled by Regis’s casual small-talk probing. Instead of relaxing him, it only served to harden his guard. 

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

“I’m simply curious. Concerned, even, if you believe it. In all these years I’ve barely even seen you take someone on a date.”

Cor frowned. “No I don’t believe it, _my old friend_ , and maybe you don’t have bad intentions, but I can smell when you have ulterior motives just like anyone else. You’ve known me long enough to know that I don’t like sidestepping. What are you getting at, Regis? Tell it to me straight.”

Regis sighed, mouth thinning with an air of resignation about him, no hard feelings, maybe, but he could tell Cor wasn’t particularly in a playing mood, and didn’t want to be dragged around. He clasped his hands together on his desk.

“I need you to get married.”

Cor sat still, frown ever present on his face, like his pinched brow, meaning that his expression didn’t even have to change when Regis spat out what he wanted. This had to be some kind of a joke.

“Regis do you _really_ think this is the time-”

“I need it done now. Less because of you, and more because of who you’re getting married to, but please believe me when I say I’ve exhausted all my other options that don’t end in a return to war. And you’re the only one I can trust with this.” The sincerity was clear on his face, as was the desperation, and that, more than anything, was a cause for concern. 

“Are you seriously contemplating political marriages? At a time like this, with Niflheim on the verge of an agreement?”

“It’s not a political marriage. It _can’t_ be,” Regis said. “More than anything, I need this to be real.”

“I don’t follow,” Cor’s concern was growing, and he had to wonder if his King had finally started to lose his grip on reality from the stress. There was no way to piece things together in his mind in a way that made sense.

Regis took a pause, steeling himself and facing Cor full on in the way that he did when he was about to make a Royal demand. “I need you to marry Ignis Scientia.”

Cor’s brain stopped. A full stop of shock and confusion because surely he must have heard wrong.

“ _What?_ ”

“Cor, please. I don’t enjoy putting you in this position any more than you like being told what to do in your personal life, but I wouldn’t come to you with this unless I had any other option.”

“Well then you had better start _explaining_ those options-”

“ _Enough_.” Old friend or not, the King would still command his power, and he cut Cor off with a strong word and a raised hand. “Niflheim has tied my hands in an attempt to turn the public against me. This is beyond political negotiation. I need an infallible reason for Ignis to stay here. Where he’s safe. Where his home is. There is no doubt in my mind that there are other schemes and plots at the ready, should Ignis get taken to Tenebrae.” Regis steadied himself again, anger fading out into a desperate pleading. “He’s like a son to me, Cor. And he’s long been by Noctis’s side. There’s no telling how hard he would take it, losing his oldest and most trusted friend.”

“Why me?” Cor asked, finding his voice, afraid that he’d been so very transparent, after all this time and how careful he’d been. “There are no shortage of young Royals around, more appropriate for his age.”

“And none of them with enough influence, and Niflheim would simply demand that they both come along to Tenebrae. Assuming they wouldn’t just insist the two be separated instead. I need someone they can’t move.”

Cor was grasping now, clinging on to any other excuse, “What about Gladio? The two are close, surely that’s a better match.”

“You know as well as I that Clarus has already been seeking matches for Gladiolus, and that it is preferred the Shield have a biological child to carry on the family bloodline. Cor…” Regis sighed. “I know you care for him. I’m not blind.” There was a slight frown, a questioning tilt to his head, “Unless I’ve… misread you. If your feelings towards Ignis are familial-”

“They’re not,” Cor stated, gritting his teeth against every word he did not want to admit.

“Then… if there is someone else-”

“There is not.”

“Well then it’s settled,” Regis said. Conversation over, debate closed.

“Have you even asked Ignis? Does he know about _any_ of this?”

“Among the list of those most steadfast to the Crown, Ignis is at the top. Second, perhaps only to you. He will understand. And he will do whatever is necessary to stay in Insomnia and care for Noctis. Of this I am sure.”

“So you’re not even giving him a choice, then,” Cor said, disappointed mostly in the fact that he wasn’t even surprised.

Regis looked at him, tired but with full of unbending will behind his eyes and Cor knew that his mind was made up. There would be no changing it.

“I will address Ignis tomorrow. If you wish to tell him yourself, do it before then.”

* * *

Ignis was cooped up in his office late into the afternoon, bleeding into the night. It was getting darker earlier, seasons changing making time pass in funny ways, but no matter the time of year, sunset was too late to still be at work. Insomnia might not be able to lose Ignis Scientia, but it would keep on running just fine through the night without him. Nevertheless, Cor couldn’t blame him for trying to hide. Gods knew what would be waiting for him beyond these walls and it had only been a short time prior that Ignis had finally moved out from the Citadel. It must have felt like something of a haven for him, but Cor knew he couldn’t stay here forever.

He rapped his knuckles on the ajar door.

Ignis didn’t jump, but he was only just short of it, eyes snapping up and looking tense.

“Sorry,” Cor said, “didn’t mean to catch you so off guard.”

Ignis fixed his glasses, that nervous habit, he must have surely felt embarrassed given all their training together. To always be ready. To always be alert. He didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about.

“Quite alright,” Ignis said, back to shuffling paper on his desk and keeping his head down. “Was there something you needed, Marshal?”

 _Please just call me Cor_.

How many times would he have to ask? Hopefully no more now that…

Well. Ignis would have to say yes first.

“You’re working late.” A casual observation but he said it to make a point, Ignis shifting in his chair at the scrutiny.

“There’s plenty that needs doing, given the state of things.”

“Perhaps, but not all of that is on you.”

He watched fidget, with no valid excuse to tell Cor that he was wrong, and no way to admit the obvious; that he was avoiding the media rush, the prying eyes, the chance that he might be followed home, hassled from the parking lot to his front door. 

If nothing else, Cor’s conversation with Regis had reminded him of something. That in this city, he held some sort of power. Not much, and maybe not anything he’d ever asked for or wanted, but it was something that maybe the people outside would respect. More than the respect they’d been showing Ignis.

“Let me give you a ride home,” he said, watching the shifting emotions over Ignis’s face. And that was not entirely unexpected either. Ignis was proud. He was stubborn. He didn’t like admitting weakness or relying on others and maybe there was someone he was similar to in that nature. 

“It won’t be a hassle,” Cor said, before Ignis could object. “You’re on my way home, and I can help keep the roaches off your back for a while.”

“So you noticed,” Ignis said, head down while he adjusted his glasses yet again, a painfully familiar gesture known from when he was trying to hide his face. From embarrassment or from shame.

“Of course I noticed,” Cor said, “I notice everything.”

In the end Ignis caved without much of a fight, as even the bravest of faces were known to slip given the right push and the right amount of exhaustion. They were mostly silent on the drive. Something that normally wouldn’t have bothered him, Cor more comfortable in the silence that meaningless, idle chatter, and Ignis, in his quiet ways, had always implied the same. It would have been fine, on any other night, had Cor not been dragging his feet to this dreaded conversation. The situation he had been thrown into earlier that day, and now had the grim duty of taking Ignis down with him.

And yet still, he stayed silent. Silent until the last possible moment.

Ignis lived in a featureless complex of apartments partway between the Citadel and the Prince. It was both boring and plain, and perfectly fitting for someone like him. At least the appearance he usually projected, the stoic Prince’s Advisor, in his grey suits and glasses, keeping quiet and taking notes in the back of the room. 

_Don’t you hate it sometimes?_ Cor had wanted to ask him more than once. Unfailingly polite, smarter than most people in the King’s service, and with so much heat behind his eyes Cor often thought Ignis might light himself on fire.

He never asked. Because that was a question far too easy to turn around and use against himself. Cor had long ago learned that when Ignis wasn’t stuck on proprietary, he could spit verbal bullets as well as the rest of them, never flinching away from the truth.

Cor pulled up in front of the entrance of the building.

“Ignis…” Cor caught him with a word as he was reaching for the door handle. Ignis stopped and looked at him, nothing but the streetlights outside for illumination, and they couldn’t hide the open earnestness on his face. The kind of look that Ignis rarely gave anyone, and now it felt like a plea. _Tell me it’s going to be alright. Tell me this will all pass. Tell me, Marshal, with the weight of your status behind it that everything is going to go away._

Cor spoke. “King Regis has a proposition for you, he means to bring it up tomorrow.”

Ignis met him with curiosity now, and the trust in his eyes was killer. As if Cor had nothing to do with this little scheme, about to steer this young man’s life into oncoming traffic while saying it was for the best.

“Sir?”

 _Please... just call me Cor_.

“I want to give you a chance to think about this Ignis, and consider all of your options. You may feel like it’s your only choice to accept, but I want you to make the call yourself.” Ignis was frowning now, just a little crease in his brow but the gears were turning in his head.

“The King believes there is a way to keep you in Insomnia without facing public scorn.”

“Well… that’s good news, isn’t it?” Ignis asked him, searching for reassurance while waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“It will come at no small cost to your personal life and we’d be just as duplicitous as Niflheim. I don’t want you to make this decision lightly.”

“Marshal, whatever it is I-“

“Marriage.”

The word hung in the air in the small dark space between them, thick and heavy like fog.

“I beg your pardon?” Ignis asked as if his hearing wasn’t perfectly clear.

“Marriage… to me.” When Cor received nothing but stunned silence from Ignis, Cor foraged on ahead. “Regis thinks he can put the Niffs in a bind by tying you to someone here. Someone that can’t be forced to leave their post and come along to Tenebrae.”

“I see,” Ignis said. Quietly, nearly to himself.

“Ignis…” he hesitated, long enough for Ignis to notice and stop looking at his hands in his lap and instead in Cor’s direction. He had to understand what was being asked of him. “This approach is twofold. It’s not just about Niflheim. It’s about getting the public back on our side. For there to be enough public outrage at the thought of splitting up a marriage.”

Ignis was smart. Cor could see it in those green eyes, reflecting whatever half-light was coming in through the windshield, he knew what was at stake. But Cor had to drive the point home.

“We have to make it real. Otherwise no one will care enough to put on the pressure, and no one outside of us can know what this is really about.”

Ignis gave a slow nod, gradual comprehension spreading through his mind.

“Ignis,” Cor said, turning to face him full on, to drive home the final point that he would have rather spent the night dancing around. “Certain things can’t be faked. We have to make it real.”

“Real…” Ignis parroted back at him, gaze slipping as thoughts were no doubt rushing his head. 

“I want you to think about it.” Cor was stern now, because here he knew Regis would play the kind old Uncle, the adoptive father and show Ignis his every care and concern, and the thing about Ignis was he would do anything for the Caelums. Something so familiar to Cor that it hurt, but he would not watch another young man drive his life into the ground for the sake of Royal approval. “Ignis, look at me.”

Ignis did as he was told. 

“If you have any doubts about this, if you don’t think that this is the right thing to do, you tell Regis no.”

“But-”

“I am willing to do this Ignis. I will do whatever is in my power to keep you safe. But only if you want me to. I need you to consider all of this. Know that we may be tied together in this for years to come. That it may have unintended consequences to other aspects of your life.”

Ignis went pensive, as he so often was. Their parting was one of silence, both weighed down by their thoughts, but as Cor watched Ignis walk to the building, only putting his car in gear once Ignis was safely inside and he was certain there were no other prying eyes set to follow him, he felt certain Ignis would heed him. At least… that was what he had to believe, as Cor would not be able to live with himself if Ignis only agreed out of forced obligation. 

He held onto that belief into the next day, quick on the heels of a sleepless night, and a morning spent bracing for impact for the summons he knew was to come. King Regis did not disappoint, and at 11 AM sharp, his presence was requested in the King’s private office. He held his breath until Ignis arrived, only moments behind Cor, a look of serious determination on his face. The look of a man with his mind made up.

The door shut behind him, and King Regis told them to sit.

They both did as they were told.

* * *

The press conference was called with no warning and little fanfare, and yet the room was still filled to burst, hushed tittering and preemptive snaps of photographs, as the media had been hanging on to the Citadel’s every move since this whole scandal had started. Even without the King present there was a rush to be in the room. A few guards, the regular Citadel staff tasked with keeping these press addresses on schedule and in order, and then Ignis, standing near the back of the stage with no intentions of walking towards the microphone to speak. He could feel all eyes on him, questions spilling over, just waiting to be asked from every mouth in the room. Crowds had never particularly scared him before, but maybe that was because he’d never been the center of their attention. Maybe because this was the first time it was his personal life blown up and put on display for the sake of politics.

At exactly one minute to the start of the scheduled address, Cor Leonis walked on stage and took his place behind the podium. And even if all attention was never entirely taken off Ignis, even with hushed questions about why the Marshal should be the one making statements, he still breathed a sigh of relief. It would be done soon. Over and done and he would no longer question his choices, but instead be locked into them with no way to move but onwards. Cor spared him a glance. Something brief and subdued, but that had always been Cor’s way. His intentions, the assurances there, his double checking on Ignis to make sure that he was ready, it was all clear. And then Cor turned back around and began.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Cor said to the uncomfortably hushed room, as if the media hadn’t been hounding the gates and sniffing for crumbs ever since this whole thing had started. But if anyone could make a simple statement sound like a reprimand it was Cor. If his reputation wasn’t enough to command a room, then his grounded presence certainly was.

“I aim to keep this succinct and to the point,” he told the room after a pause, cold blue eyes scanning over each and every one of them. Taking stock. Demanding notice. “In the recent past there has been no shortage of accusations and baseless rumors against the crown. Against Lucis, against his majesty, and specifically against Ignis Scientia.”

Again, Cor paused, and even as the reporters kept hushed there was a strong tension, a shift in the air as they leaned forward in their seats, cameras and microphones ready to capture it on tape, Cor’s words broadcast live over the news in a gamble for answers that had paid off. “I trust you’ll forgive me for choosing to speak in the absence of King Regis, however given the circumstances it’s become clear that we can no longer stand idly by. This affects me personally. And while I’m sure you all know my private life has never been a subject open to the media, after many serious conversations I’ve made the decision to come forward and speak… as Niflheim and now our own journalists have been pushing a narrative to slander Mr. Scientia. Ignis…” Cor took a breath, loud and deep enough to be audible through the mic, “my partner, and now, my fiancé.”

The room erupted. Snap flashes blinded Ignis and he felt lightheaded, and journalists stood and shouted their questions, not deterred by any of the calls for quiet. Cor continued on, raising his voice over them.

“Ignis and I have been close for a long time now, and we have been careful to keep things both professional and private, given the judgments that may have been passed on us, disapproval from points of propriety or concern. The King has known, as well as those few deemed necessary to keep Ignis from receiving special treatment or undue praise, as I am his superior. We chose not to risk scandal, and have been putting off our engagement, but given the circumstances we have decided to go public. And with no reason for secrecy any longer, we will be getting married as we have long planned to do.”

Ignis had no idea if Cor’s words were even being heard over the surge of chaos in the room. He kept steady on, kept serious and unfazed and it was no wonder he had been chosen for this little charade.

“Niflheim will not take my husband… and the love of my life from me, in some political ploy that holds no bearing. All of Ignis’s decisions and dedication is his own. As was his choice to enter in a relationship with me. We will not be taking questions at this time.”

And just like that, it was over. Cor was walking away from the podium, ignoring the questions and demands for answers shouted at him from behind. He walked directly for the side exit from the stage, and casually as he passed, he reached out for Ignis’s hand to hold, and when Ignis took it, he led them promptly away.


	3. Chapter 3

Two small boxes and a duffle bag.

Ignis stared at the entirety of his possessions, condensed and organized in the same meticulous fashion he lived the rest of his life. There was so much less than he’d been expecting, between his bare apartment and the small quarters he still kept at the Citadel. It was a good thing- fewer items to clutter someone else’s space, less of a burden to move and carry and unpack. But he hadn’t quite imagined the sum of his life would look so… pathetic.

He was to move into Cor’s apartment. Yet another little show for anyone that was watching too close, the kind of thing they’d claimed they had both wanted in the past but had not dared draw attention to themselves. Now with their marriage out in the open as it were, the claim they no longer had to hide, and thus had no reason not to be open.

It was one of many things agreed upon between them; himself, Cor, and King Regis. A plan laid out between them in secret, their desperate attempt at turning a romance real and sympathetic. And while Ignis knew for the practicality of his survival it was the only choice, he was still loath to encroach on Cor’s private space.

He had long had a reputation of being as solitary and closed off as Ignis himself. These were things he did not wish to disrespect.

Cor’s apartment was at the East end of town, a nice, if unremarkable high rise, well kept and nondescript. Not entirely what Ignis was expecting for the Marshal of the Crownsguard, but then again, where else would Cor live? Some opulent building, a top floor suite? The idea was as much out of character as it was unappealing. All Ignis could do was ready himself and knock on the Marshal’s door. 

Cor answered quickly, and even as he was bound to be expecting Ignis to arrive, he still almost looked something like shocked at his showing up, like maybe he’d been thinking it was some sort of mistake, some dream. Certainly Ignis had been wondering the same. 

“Ignis,” Cor said in greeting, then took a half step back from the door, catching himself in his own perceived rudeness. But then Cor looked down, spotting the boxes at Ignis’s feet, and he frowned. “Is this all you’re bringing?”

“It’s all I have,” Ignis said, restraining himself from tacking on a, _Sir_. They were engaged. They were in love. They had long planned this kind of union in secret and there was no point in pretending anymore. Ignis had to believe it in full force, because if he couldn’t then no one else would. 

He didn’t have to force the warm flush on his face when Cor, without further comment on his belonging and an expression kept painfully neutral, kneeled down and quickly grabbed the boxes to bring inside. 

The Marshal had lived something of a secret life, so closed off even after so many years in service, it was like no one knew anything about him, and thus Ignis hadn’t known what to expect. Anonymity by design, and something Ignis had picked up on, as soon as he was old enough to begin thinking of those sorts of things. The intersection of personal and political, from someone who was Noct’s brother in everything but name and yet, by his title Ignis only held a government job. Nothing more, nothing less, and the same could have been said of someone like Cor. Cor Leonis, who had lived his entire life by the Caelum’s side since he was old enough to begin swinging a sword. A decision he’d made himself, coming from nothing and nobody of note. Perhaps then, Cor had learned the hard way back in his youth, that things were best kept secret. Perhaps he learned from someone else’s missteps and examples, but either way, Ignis was left with his eyes wide open as he breached the gap between professional and private, absorbing every bit of personality he could based on his new surroundings.

Clean and meticulous. The space was smaller than Ignis had pictured in his head and there again rose the anxiety. The imposition of crashing face first into Cor’s intimate life and ruining all the privacy he’d so fiercely maintained. It was kept orderly in the fashion of the military man that Cor was, nothing beyond standard furnishings, utilitarian but not uncomfortable. The most personality came from the plants scattered about in flashes of green; ivy on the bookshelf, pots lined along the windowsill. Enough to make Ignis wonder if Cor’s green thumb was more a passion project than a hobby.

There wasn’t much to tour in the single bedroom apartment, but Cor followed through on the motions of showing him around. 

“I made space for you,” Cor said, showing Ignis into the bedroom, in all of its austere glory. Anyone could have slept here, in the wide bed covered in charcoal grey sheets. Anyone could have lived here, setting their alarm every night for some no-name office job, working form 9-5 the next day over before coming home and doing it all over again. Nothing of this space said it belonged to the Marshal of the Royal Crownsguard, but then again, what did Ignis truly know of Cor, outside the Citadel walls? Who was he to say what Cor’s inner workerings looked like, how they should have shown through? Everyone needed a break from who they were sometimes.

“I’ll give you some time to unpack your things.”

Cor stood awkward in the doorway, hands folded in front of himself like he was waiting on the King and not welcoming someone into his own home. Not flustered- Ignis didn’t think he knew the meaning of the word- but hesitant, cautious.

Ignis gave him a nod, wondering if Cor was waiting for a sign to be dismissed, but still he lingered. The air between them needed to be cut, and Cor looked as if he was on the verge of saying something, then-

He left. Came back a moment later with the stacked boxes of Ignis’s things, the meager sum of his life, placed gently in the doorway of the bedroom. And then Cor granted him privacy, and stepped away. Silent permission for Ignis to take his time and unpack. 

He felt a bit like a child first entering the Citadel, when everything was off limits, filled with things only adults could touch and he was told to keep his hands to himself. To use his inside voice, to stand still and not wander off. So it felt like misbehaving,breaking rules as Ignis looked around the room, before opening the closet door. His breath caught for a moment, in the slightest surprise when he realized that Cor had emptied out exactly half of the space there, and left it clear and open for Ignis. 

It was the same with the dresser, dark wood and solid, lined up against the wall, with exactly one half of the drawers emptied out. There was space for him on the bedside table, and when he went into the adjoining bathroom, sure enough, there were gaps there too, in the medicine cabinet on the wall, on the shelf in the shower. Here Ignis could see that old military streak in Cor again, the neat rows of things, the basic toiletries, the emphasis on practicality. Something about it warmed him. Maybe the knowledge that there was no secret Cor. That the man he’d spent time with day in and day out in such a professional setting had always been showing some form of his true self. It made Ignis feel better about what was to come. 

Empty hope, maybe, but it was better than nothing.

It took him longer than anticipated to unpack, not because he brought that many things, but because he spent so much time feeling like he was moments away from getting scolded for going through the Marshal’s personal things. It didn’t matter that they’d discussed it; himself with King Regis and Cor, quietly plotting before the big announcement. They would need to be visible together, to live together, to make it look like they’d been in a relationship for so long it was natural and so of course they were to live together too. They couldn’t guess how long this would all go on, how long they would need to keep up the charade, but even granting a quick retreat from Niflheim on the matter, were they to split too soon, suspicion would only draw eyes on them again. They could make up excuses of separation and divorce at a later date, but there was no telling how long that would be. Years, maybe. They’d had the uncomfortable conversation, driven by Regis with good intent, about how their personal feelings may linger somewhere else but the last thing they needed was having someone getting caught in an “ _affair”._

Cheating on his fake husband. Who happened to be the husband of much wishful thinking and secret fantasies, ranging from lustful to innocent; sleepy kisses in the morning, hugs from behind. Little fantasies for Ignis to keep to himself, that had surfaced again, surged fast and overwhelming with these new political plans for his life. But they weren’t in love.

Regardless, it was off the table for them to see anyone else, no matter how much the other might not care. This was a delicate act. An act in which they could not risk shattering the illusion, to stay in character at all times, to pretend to be madly in love. Ignis’s life was on the line. One slip and he was dangerously close to getting shipped off to Tenebrae, intercepted by the Empire’s agents, brainwashed or tortured for information maybe, but even if that wasn’t the end goal… what life was there for him in a country he barely remembered filled with people he didn’t know? The Citadel held his family now. And there again was something that maybe Cor understood more than he let on. 

In the same way maybe, as Cor was giving him space now to help Ignis settle in, and yet, he found himself only surging with anxiety as the last of his things were put away. It felt like Cor was not just giving him space, but avoiding him. If this suffocating awkwardness was to persist during all their time spent together, Ignis didn’t know how he was going to survive. 

He was not so lost in thought to miss the feeling of eyes on his back once Cor finally reappeared, after Ignis had spent all the painfully cautious time he could making his belonging as unobtrusive as possible, then going back over them again, not wanting to leave the safety of the bedroom. Again, Cor stood in the doorway, not breaching the space, and he called for Ignis’s attention by clearing his throat. 

“It’s getting late,” Cor said, “you must be tired, what with everything going on.”

Ignis, uncertain of what exactly he was getting at only responded with a hesitant nod.

“I, uh,” Cor rubbed a hand along the line of his jaw, calloused fingers scraping against the short hair there. It was so unusual to see him look for the right words, show uncertainty about what he had to say. “While… you’re getting used to things, if you prefer I can sleep on the couch.”

Ignis blinked at him, absorbing all the angles and contents of the offer, even Cor’s stilted way of asking. They weren’t strangers. They’d worked together at the Citadel for many years, but that didn’t mean they’d ever breached intimacy before, whether it was platonic or not.

Married couples did much more than sleep in the same bed. 

“It’s alright,” Ignis said, twisting his fingers while wishing his voice hadn’t sounded so much like a wisp. “I’m not about to kick you from your own bed.” Cor looked like he was about to say something else, but Ignis was set on surging forward with his bravery while he still had it. “We’re engaged, aren’t we?” he said with what he hoped was a wry smile and enough humor to hide the fact that his heart was pounding hard in his chest. 

“I don’t want to do anything that might make you uncomfortable.” Cor’s confession hung in the air while they stared each other down, so far apart from across the room.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” Ignis said to him, quietly, and then grabbed his pajamas from where they’d been placed in the dresser, and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Only then did he let out a breath. 

Later that night, when they were done with the delicate tiptoeing around each other readying themselves for bed, when the lights had been turned out and after Cor had said a quiet, _sleep well,_ to him. After all the preliminary twisting and fidgeting in the dark and quiet room where there was nothing to hear but the others breathing, Ignis turned on his side and stared at the back of Cor’s neck.

The rise and fall of his chest was steady. It was hard to tell if he was sleeping or not, and the space between them on the mattress felt both suffocatingly close and unbearably so far away. How did married couples sleep, then? In each other's arms, whispering sweet goodnights sealed with kisses. Would this always be so strange between them?

Ignis didn’t know. But in the dark, under Cor’s soft blankets, in Cor’s bed, surrounded by the smell and feel of him, Ignis thought, maybe… maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe not having to sleep alone any more wouldn’t be so bad. 

* * *

Cor gave Ignis a ride to the Citadel the next morning.

It made sense they should commute together now, in this post-secret-relationship life, but Ignis didn’t know how long it would take him to get used to it. To having a companion in the mornings, to having someone to come home to at night.

Cor had been up before him, already making coffee and preparing for his day, shocking enough when Ignis had always thought himself the early riser. But the caffeine was appreciated, especially when he woke groggy and bleary, confused as to where he was. He hadn’t slept much. He spent too much time staring at Cor’s back and trying to micromanage plans for a future that was uncertain at best. He’d wanted nothing more than to pull those covers over his head and sleep for the rest of the day, but for people like Ignis, that kind of behavior wasn’t an option. 

That week was the beginning of his new normal. 

Of course the press conference manned by Cor breaking the news of their engagement had been followed with a flurry of coverage and nonstop talk. But beyond that all that was left was more speculation; maybe even more than there had been before, when Niflheim had first shoved Ignis into the spotlight, before anyone had known what to make of him. 

How had they kept their relationship a secret? Were they truly in love? When was the wedding? Front page photos of Ignis were replaced with pictures of Ignis and Cor together. The shot of them, hand in hand, Cor leading Ignis off the stage after their first public statement, was reprinted over and over again. Ignis caught looking up at Cor with some kind of wonder, so embarrassingly open and obvious.

There were of course, retorts and heavy backlash from Niflheim. More accusations of grooming, questions of when exactly this relationship had started. How old Ignis was through every stage of their progression, insinuations that made his stomach curl and that he refused to bring up with Cor. Their saving grace was that this time around there was more reluctance to jump in line with the Niflheim conspiracy theories, not just from the public but from news outlets as well. Cor Leonis was well respected. He wasn’t so easily discredited, and now instead of a scandal and abuse and stealing children, the wind was shifting to uncertainty. Maybe, even to defense. 

It didn’t change the awkward dance Ignis and Cor had started doing around each other, in the small moments together alone in Cor’s apartment. The Citadel, swamped as it was, everyone running ragged, left the perfect excuse for them to overwork themselves instead of getting trapped together at home. 

But the act had to continue. They couldn’t avoid each other forever and expect things to look ok, much as Ignis had taken to ignoring the chatter as much as his duties would allow. In this instance, as much as Ignis liked to be _in control_ , as much as he desperately needed order in chaos, he was feeling swept up, lost in the storm, and he was more than happy to allow Cor Leonis to take the lead. 

Knocks on his office door, Cor bringing him coffee from the cafe across the street, black, as they both liked it. Their strange interactions, pretending to be so much closer than they were, leaving Ignis’s office door wide open should anyone be around to listen and speculate. Within the Citadel or out of it, they would always be on guard. 

“Are you free for lunch?”

Cor, once again at his door, awkwardly trying not to be so formal were anyone watching and yet, doing a rather terrible job of it. It was endearing. Almost dangerously so. 

Ignis rubbed his eyes and locked his computer. Long work hours were taking their toll, even if he’d made it a goal to never look at the newest headlines unless he _had_ to. He stopped wanting to know what they were saying. 

“Only if you’re buying,” Ignis said, a sad attempt at humor but he still caught the small smile Cor offered. 

“Of course,” he said, “I thought it might do you some good to get out of the building for a while.”

It would. It would also give the paparazzi a chance to snap more photos of them out and about together. Two birds with one stone, as they said, and Ignis tried to not get lost in fantasies where they were going out alone together because of choice and not a forced invisible hand. But for a moment, he could believe that this was their daily life, an engaged couple struggling with politics and feelings and what was or was not appropriate, but too in love to care. He could pretend, in the (more or less) comfortable silence between them, the strange closeness that Ignis always thought they’d shared, neither of them from noble blood and yet surrounded by nobles, tied by their loyalty and steadfast determination. He could pretend that these feelings were real, and they were a quiet couple on their way out to enjoy lunch together away from the rest of the madness. 

Until they got outside. 

“Marshal!”

A blinding camera flash left him blinking.

“Mr. Scientia!”

An oppressive crowd closing in on him, blurred with frantic motion and Ignis felt his heartbeat pick up a rapid pace in anxiety. 

“Ignis!” _Flash_. “Can we get a quick question, please!”

A strong arm wrapped around his waist. 

“No comment.” Cor’s voice was gruff and on that dangerous verge of anger that Ignis had only heard a few times before. He was pulling Ignis in close to his body and pushing through the crowd of reporters that had been laying in wait for them, or anyone else they could try and snag for commentary, unsuspecting when they left the Citadel. 

“ _No comment_ ,” he said again, more intense as he shielded Ignis from the snapping cameras with his arm.

“ _Marshal-!_ ”

They broke through the crowd surrounding them, rushing across the wide intersection in front of the property, and down a block to a cafe. A frequent spot for food and drinks from everyone at the Citadel, and one with no nonsense policies on heckling press. The closest they could come to a safe haven that wasn’t the privacy of their own homes. But Ignis missed the steady weight of Cor’s arm around them when they were finally inside and the protection of his presence was no longer needed.

“Sorry,” Cor said, “maybe not the best idea.” His ice blue eyes were sharp, looking out the large glass windows and glaring at the hovering flies there, still trying to snap pictures. 

“It’s alright,” Ignis said, and offered the kindest smile he could, small and timid. “It’ll give everyone something to talk about.”

And talk they did. As Ignis and Cor shared a quiet meal together in a corner table, hunched in close and private. Ignis broke his own rules the next day, sneaking a few glances at the pictures that lined the gossip rags while he bought himself another midmorning coffee from a corner stand. 

To see Cor, fierce and protective, arm outstretched and Ignis tucked in close to him. Like a lover. A _real_ love, fake moments captured in time and saturated colors. More pictures of them in the cafe, looking intimate, like they were sharing secrets. Ignis supposed they were. Just not the kind of secrets he wanted. Fake secrets, ones that real couples didn’t keep.

There was an urge to buy those magazines and keep all those photos for himself forever. To foster fake memories of a fake relationship, but Gods if it wasn’t getting harder and harder not to pretend that his feelings towards Cor had long stretched beyond simple admiration. 

Ignis paid for his coffee, tucked his free hand back into his pocket and left without indulging his silly whim. 

Best not to complicate an already complicated situation even more. 

* * *

“So… you are the Marshal, huh?”

Ignis barely contained a sigh, even as Gladio’s gentle voice broke him out of his own wandering mind. They were at Amicitia manor, Gladio at his desk, sitting backward on his chair, and Ignis on his bed, legs curled up to his chest and chin resting on his knees. They used to do this often- retreat to Gladio’s bedroom, back when schoolwork had been the bane of their existence. When Ignis needed a break from the Citadel and Gladio needed company outside his own family. They’d talk books and music and air their frustrations. An old comfort. One Gladio must have known Ignis would be in need of.

But if Gladio was hoping to talk, well… Ignis didn’t really have answers for him.

“It’s alright, y'know. I get why you guys would wanna keep it a secret, with…” Gladio waved his hand around, encompassing the _everything_ of the situation that he couldn’t find the words for, but the conversation, much as he was asking it to happen, looked like it was making Gladio uncomfortable. There was a small frown of his face, a little crease between his brown, scratching the back of his neck when he wouldn’t look Ignis straight in the eye. “I just… kinda surprised you didn’t tell _me_.”

Ah, well… Ignis could add betrayal of his friends' trust to the list of reasons he’d been feeling terrible and uneasy. And what was he supposed to say? The entirety of his future life and wellbeing hung in the balance of this wedding, and to that end the truth could not get out. It simply could not. So he stayed quiet.

“I mean…” Gladio pushes on, either oblivious or choosing to aggressively ignore the damper on Ignis’s mood. Perhaps he thought he was being the better friend, tackling things head on instead of letting them fester. “I get that he’s the _Immortal_ and all. I can see the appeal I guess.” _I guess,_ held the tone of a begrudging confession. “But Iggy… isn’t he kinda old for you?”

Ignis laughed.

He laughed at the absurdity of it all, the ridiculousness of the situation that had been bubbling under the surface since the farce began. Gladio looked taken aback, maybe worried that he’d offended, and then Ignis did sigh. Because his choices were to remain silent and avoid or speak up and lie, and either way he was doing Gladio an injustice when he was just trying to be a good friend.

“It’s not real,” Ignis blurted.

“What?”

“It’s not real,” he said again, louder this time, gaining confidence in spilling the secret. “We were never dating. We weren’t engaged in secret. This whole thing is a ploy. Regis’s idea of a way to keeping me tied to Insomnia before Niflheim could sway enough opinions to get their way. He needed a sympathetic narrative and someone too important to Lucis to budge.”

Gladio’s eyes were wide. Taking it all in, but moments after Ignis’s outburst they narrowed again. “Iggy you don’t have to lie just to make me feel better-“

“ _This_ is the truth. It’s everything else that’s the lie. And if you think I was somehow able to hide an entire serious relationship from you, with the Marshal, of all people, then I don’t know what else about me you’d believe.”

He let Gladio chew on that before he got a response. “I don’t know Iggy, you’re pretty smart.”

“I am,” Ignis said, not sounding particularly confident despite the claim. He stuck his chin back on his knees. “Which is why I know that this marriage needs to happen. And we have to make it look real.”

Silence hung over them, unhappy resignation along with it. Gladio let it sit before he tried again.

“Hey, at least it’s Cor, right? You could do worse.”

“No,” Ignis said, trying not to show his whole heart, “you’re right. He’s highly regarded… and handsome. Stern, but… kind. Much kinder to me than he has any right to be.” In his mind, Ignis faded away, dancing in dreams where this wasn’t all some fake fantasy. Where Cor actually wanted to get married. He didn’t notice the hope slip from Gladio’s eyes as he looked on at his friend.

“Shit. You really like him don’t you.”

Ignis’s silently averted eyes were enough of an answer

“That’s good, right?” He said, and if Ignis hadn’t been so distracted he might have heard the tone of misery echoing in Gladio’s voice. “Marrying someone you like.”

“He can _not_ know,” Ignis said, turning stern. “Absolutely not under any circumstances lest we make this mess of a situation any more complicated than it already is.

And to that, Gladio had no answer.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning of the Leonis-Scientia wedding was drenched in fog and swallowed by heavy grey skies constantly pittering rain. Fitting for the mood, which was to say it was weather better suited for a funeral. But Ignis had always liked the rain. 

The small ceremony and following limited reception were to take place in the Citadel. Convenience in its multipurpose existence, political hub and symbol, residence to the King and location for Royal celebrations, grand ballrooms and open rooms for visitors deemed important enough to be invited. Civil services like elopement didn’t usually take place in the building itself, even if it was one of the places in Insomnia to get a marriage certificate, but given the situation, well… King Regis was always inclined to make exceptions for his closest allies and friends. And given the quick planning and rapid spur to action, built in security and privacy made for one less thing to worry about.

Ignis came dressed in a custom tailored suit, all black as was the Lucian way. Cor, in his Military formal wear, looking handsome and intimidating enough for Ignis to feel dangerously ill. And wouldn’t that have been something; vomiting all over his husband's shoes as soon as they were married. The thought only served to make him more nervous, running through all the ways this could possibly go wrong. But they had both agreed. And feelings aside, Ignis had the threat of a captive existence threatening him from beyond the city walls. 

They’d left Cor’s apartment early in the morning, got changed and ready in separate rooms at the Citadel in some mockery of tradition; to not see the bride before the ceremony. But no one here was wearing white. 

At 3 P.M. sharp in an old, but well-used office for official affairs, on a mid-floor of the Citadel they gathered, on the wine-dark carpets in front of the heavy wooden desk, walls covered with leather bound books and framed certifications and licenses to conduct civil business. 

Cor was already waiting in the room, as Ignis had been brought from the private dressing area they’d given him after spending too long fidgeting with his hair, his tie, down to the laces on his shoes. He’d cleaned his glasses over and over again, like spotless lenses could grant him more clarity, instead of the dreamlike disengaged feeling that had settled over him since the morning. That this was all happening to someone else. The same surreal feeling that often surged over him from time to time, ever since the first demands were made of him in the Council room.

King Regis was there, of course, as was Noct. Noct, looking at him curiously, like there were so many things to say stopped up in his throat. But Noctis had been so carefully avoiding the subject, and Ignis was afraid to broach it himself, afraid that any one wrong word and Noct would know the truth. They had known each other for too long, and Noctis, much as he played the fool, was so much more perceptive than he ever let on, but he would never make accusations. Not of Ignis, not if he didn’t come out and say it himself, but Ignis didn’t know what was more dangerous; coming clean or keeping Noctis in the dark. 

Where Regis went, so did Clarus. And Gladio as well, with his hair slicked back and a nervous look on his face. Ignis’s Uncle offered him a tense smile, his only family in the city. And trying to give him courage even when the scope of this situation extended so far beyond him and the ways he could protect nis nephew. Their officiator stood at the front of the room, ready to say a few words, allow them to exchange formal vows and then endow them with the official stamp and seal of marriage. So much cleaner and quicker than any union at a temple of the Six would have been. So much more detached. Exactly one official photographer and stenographer were allowed in the room. No press. No journalists. Only the closest people that needed to be there and bear witness to the wedding, and if anyone were to accuse the affair of being rushed and slapped together for the sake of thwarting Niflheim, then they were right. One truth, amidst many lies. True love and a rushed elopement for the sake of Ignis’s protection could almost make the situation believable. 

“Are we ready to begin?”

A simple question but a loaded one, and Ignis glanced around the room, from the officiator waiting expectantly for his response, to Noct and Gladio, who both seemed torn between awkward discomfort and steadfast loyalty to their friend. Then to Cor. Who was looking at Ignis, his only true partner in crime from here until the end of wherever this situation took them. Cor held out his hand, and Ignis stepped forward to grasp it.

“Yes,” Cor said, “we’re ready.”

* * *

A reception was waiting for them in one of the Citadel ballrooms on an upstairs floor. 

With the formalities out of the way and the ceremony done and finalized, even with the ink and wax-stamped seal still drying on the paper, it was over. Ignis was a married man. Now Ignis Leonis. A new name and a new world to step into. But they weren’t home free yet. One suspicion too many and the false claims of love they’d made would be torn to shreds, along with their marriage certificate and all fabricated reasons that Ignis should have to stay in Insomnia. 

On the way to the reception, Cor took hold of his hand, and brought it to wrap around his forearm.

Applause welcomed them from the small crowd waiting within, locked behind thick doors and Citadel decadence. Here now were the obligatory invites. The forced relations, the many names of political and Royal importance, severed deeply from the small crowd of friends that had been present for their union. Cor felt rigid next to him, jaw clenched and muscles tense, but he was the Immortal. They couldn’t touch him, and Cor Leonis had been around for political games and proper events long enough to keep their act together. There was solidarity in their mutual discomfort, at least, and an easy excuse for them to lean in close to each other, weary of outsiders when their supposed romance had been so secret and so intense. 

This was the necessary evil of being in the public eye and so close to royalty. A marriage couldn’t just be a marriage.

The fact that few people in the room had close connected to either groom didn’t stop a steady stream of overly-friendly congratulations, Ignis hearing himself as a broken record, over and over with each new face and title he could recite from memory, _thank you so much you are too kind, thank you, so glad you were able to come_. 

And all the while, Cor next to him, Cor more limited on graces and thanks, but then again he had done his time. He was military, not a royal advisor, in addition to being the Immortal, and having social niceties forgiven where they were forgotten. The sole reason, no doubt, why Cor was able to take his hand after there had been enough formalities, to drag Ignis away from the stream of guests with minimal apologies, and (still holding his hand) led them to their seats to allow for the celebratory feast to begin.

“You looked like you’d had enough,” Cor murmured to him through a tight mouth while they sat down, on display in front of everyone as tables were filled and drinks were poured. Between them, under the table, Cor still had hold of his hand. It was difficult to focus on anything else.

“Thank you,” Ignis said, clearly relieved. He had never quite learned how to be the center of attention. Cor had been the same, he thought. A young boy, with common blood and few options in life. An infamous hero, only now that he’d been in service of the Crown for so long. At 15 Cor couldn’t have known what he was getting himself into. No more than Ignis could have, being a child sent to the Citadel on his parent’s high hopes.

At a table near the front, a man was standing, politely tapping a knife on his champagne glass in a poor attempt to get everyone’s scattered attention. Ignis sighed, and any further secret conversations he might hope to hold disappeared from his tongue as the first of the many long and impersonal speeches, wishing the newlyweds the very best, began.

* * *

It was apparently scandalous that Ignis and Cor should think to retire back to their own apartment on the night of their wedding. The Citadel lent itself well to celebrations, with so many spare rooms and offered luxury for frequent guests. Regis had insisted that the two of them stay in one of the nicer suites. A strange undertaking for Ignis, to be held as an honored guest in the same building he’d once had his own small quarters in. 

They didn’t get back to that dark room until late, not with so many guests to speak to, so many toasts and speeches and conversations neither Cor nor Ignis could escape. But it had been all politics. Not a regular wedding of friends and family. There had been no dancing late into the night. Just dinner and drinks and far too much talk.

Their exhaustion was mutual, their burden shared, along with all the expected tense and awkward silence between them. Husbands, now. For better or for worse. Til death or Niflheim do they part. 

Cor sighed as he flipped on the light, and the dull glow, resembling candlelight, washed the waiting spectacle of flowers and champagne in warmth. His sigh turned into a laugh.

“Well, I suppose we can’t fault Regis for going all out where he could.” Cor started taking off his jacket, walking towards the waiting bottle on ice. Ignis hesitated, but wasn’t far behind. Distant as they might be, Cor was the only one he could cling to. 

“Drink?” Cor asked, already pouring one for himself, and Ignis nodded. He began the process of deformalizing himself as well; buttons undone and jacket off. They had privacy, even if their time here wasn’t exactly private. 

Cor handed him the glass, looking for a moment like he wanted to say something, then simply took a sip of his own drink.

“No toast, then?” Ignis asked, a sad attempt to lighten the mood. Cor was kind enough to soften his look.

“I think we’ve had more than enough of those for one night.”

There was something in the way Cor was looking at him. Something that made Ignis drop his eyes, before taking another long sip.

He wandered over to the small table that had been holding their champagne and found a tray of little finger foods for them to munch on as well, as if the gluttonous amounts of food laid out before them earlier hadn’t been enough. In addition to the flower petals strewn about, there were flowers in vases, their perfume filling the air. It was starting to make him feel lightheaded. So Ignis stepped over to the bed- the very grand, elaborate bed, full of pillows, sitting in a carved bedpost- and sat down on the edge. 

He heard Cor’s footsteps on the soft carpet.

“So, was it everything you’d imagined?” 

“Everything I imagined?” Ignis asked back, raising his head to Cor, who had one hand shoved in his pocket, the other still holding his glass.

Cor shrugged. “Marriage. Your wedding. Can’t say I’d ever planned on it myself, but you strike me as someone that’s had this kind of thing all planned out for years.”

“Actually, I…” Ignis shook his head before taking a deep breath. “I’d never much thought about it. There never was the time, and the Scientia line is not… not like the Amicitias.”

Not bound to Royalty by blood oaths and fates chains. Which Ignis supposed had worked in his favor, as he never was particularly fond of the idea having kids. Too much of his life was to be spent in devotion to Noctis. It wouldn’t be fair to a family.

“Then I suppose we’re similar in that regard after all,” Cor said and came to sit next to him, an infuriating inch of space between them in which their bodies did not touch. 

“Ignis…”

Cor started and stopped again. It wasn’t like the Marshal to tiptoe around words and say anything less than straight forward. It was starting to make Ignis nervous. 

“I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing,” Cor said, ever so carefully, speaking quietly again. There was something endearing about it, the way that Cor was so considerate with him. Not careful, not that he thought Ignis was competent on his own or that he couldn’t handle blunt words and hard truths. Just that Cor had a way of being kind, more subtle than anyone else Ignis had known. “But… it’s our wedding night.”

Their wedding night. And...

 _Certain things can’t be faked_.

Like…

Stained bedsheets and a certain smell lingering in the room, things any nosy maid might notice, might mention offhand, might start a rumor or worse, seek out for themselves with less than generous intentions. Things hard to miss. Things like used condoms in the trash.

Would Cor use a condom with him? Probably, knowing the Marshal’s overwhelming sense of restraint when it came to everything involving Ignis, but… might it be more believable if they didn’t? The thought of even asking filled Ignis with unbearable heat.

“I understand.”

Cor nodded, and took another drink so he didn’t have to watch Ignis watching him. They should have known this would be a problem from the start, from every endless sidestep and indirect avoidance bred from caution. Ignis should have known from the first night that Cor didn’t even want to sleep in the same bed, that this consummation would be going nowhere if Cor was too hung up on chivalry to step forward and initiate what needed to be done.

So Ignis leaned forward and kissed him first. 

Meant to be short and sweet, to break the ice, but Ignis found he let it linger. Only slightly. But enough for the Marshal to pull away if he’d wanted, but he didn’t which was no small favor for Ignis’s self esteem. The kiss broke and Cor stared at him. It was infuriating, how he could say so much yet so little, always keeping himself closed off. Ignis had to wonder if others had felt the same about him.

“It’s okay,” Ignis said, an attempt to sooth the frazzled atmosphere, and Cor’s infuriating self restraint on his behalf. 

_Certain things can’t be faked_.

Ignis would do what he had to. For the Crown, to take control of his life, so the excuses fluttering in his head said, but as he took his glasses off and got up to set them on the table, his hands were trembling when they went to the buttons on his shirt. Not with fear but anticipation, and wouldn’t that just be the end of him if Cor knew the truth. Sometimes secrets were better off kept to oneself to avoid an inevitable fallout. 

Cor cleared his throat. With some trepidation Ignis turned to him, hands still fidgeting with his clothes. He could see well enough in the dim lights to see the bloom of red on Cor’s face. It was easier then for Ignis to walk up to him and for Cor, stiff and wide eyed, to let him lean in close. 

“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to,” Cor whispered to him, as Ignis closed in. He paused for a moment, deciding it was better to simply kiss him again than admit to any recurring fantasies that had plagued him. If Cor thought this was unwanted…

No, it was only unwanted if Cor didn't want _him_.

He was a contradiction; stiff but malleable as Ignis kissed him, pushed him back to the bed. He had to fake his own courage or risk freezing in uncertainty, but it seemed that Cor had finally taken to the bait, because just as that hesitation was brewing, Cor peeled his shirt the rest of the way off, then laid him down on the bed. 

Their awkward shuffling was near silent as they further undressed. Cor let Ignis seek his mouth out again and again; foreplay, pleasant distraction, an excuse to keep their eyes closed and fall in, a way to keep from having to talk in these stilted moments. 

Cor had to break from him to sit up and unclasp his pants.

“Have you done this before?” he asked Ignis in a small voice, as if someone might hear them. Or maybe afraid that the answer might be _no_.

Ignis, wide eyed and embarrassed by the fact that he was hard, only nodded. He was certainly acting like a virgin, only because his unrelenting crush on Cor was taking over, making him want to reach out and touch his bare chest and the defined muscles there. The scars from old battles. The life he’d been living for so long, making Ignis feel so inadequate in comparison. What was he but a schoolboy, in comparison to the Marshal?

Still, Cor was gentle with him, as he stretched out on his back, knees bent and legs open, nearly completely undressed now. It didn’t stop the jolt of panic when Cor pulled away, but the moment was short lived when Ignis saw he was only digging things out of the overnight bag left in the room. Lube and condoms- of course, because when would the Marshal ever not be prepared. He set them down before shedding the last of his clothes to the floor. The curve of his muscles, the dark hair, Ignis took it all in and yet tried not to stare. Least of all not at his sizable cock, growing hard. Vacantly he remembered locker room rumors about the Marshal’s body, and if he hadn’t been so tense he might have laughed at the thought that it turned out all those rumors were true. 

“Is this okay?” Cor asked him, settling in between his legs. Ignis, still clad in his boxer briefs, pulled them down in a rush and dropped them over the ledge of the bed, before giving a shaky nod. 

Cor hovered over him, knees and palms flat on the bed as he looked down, like he was afraid of what would happen should they touch. Permission, then, to let them get past this bridge, so Ignis brought his arms up and around Cor’s neck. The feeling of skin on skin, the heat of another body. He wasn’t a virgin, no, but Ignis had only found minimal pleasure in his past sexual forays, with fellow fumbling school boys that usually never called back. Cor settled in closer, close enough for Ignis to tug him down for another kiss. Kissing was easier. They didn’t have to speak when their mouths were otherwise occupied, or micromanage every facial expression, hunting for signs of alarm. It made it easier for Cor to drop closer, to move a large hand down along Ignis’s body. A guide, rather than an exploration, as he pulled one of Ignis’s legs wider, brought it between their bodies and brushed at Ignis’s erection. How then, should Ignis have bitten back his moan or stopped the movement of his body. His obvious wanting. He couldn’t- and so he brought one of his own hands down to start rubbing at his hole. How was he going to pretend, after this night, that his lust had only ever been manufactured.

Cor listened to his nonverbal invitation. He reached over for the box and Ignis, biting his lip, before he could stop himself said, “You don’t - …. You don’t need to use one if you don’t want.”

Cor paused, uncertain, like he hadn’t just heard what Ignis said, but then he grabbed the bottle instead, to pour some lubrication on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up before he dipped down and started touching Ignis.

 _Did you want this?_ Ignis wanted to ask as Cor, so very carefully and slowly, pushed himself inside.

 _Do you like this?_ Ignis wondered, when he started thrusting, pleasure clear on his face even if he couldn’t quite look Ignis in the eye. Maybe that’s where the line was crossed. Not in physicality, but in intimacy of another kind. 

Ignis moaned, no longer able to stop himself, and let Cor take control. 

Fighting the urge to get lost in pleasure was difficult. Particularly when it was clear Cor knew what he was doing, this wasn’t some fumbling schoolboy with no experience. It was a quiet affair, making every noise Ignis made feel unbearably loud in the room, set for some romantic couple _in love_. Cor touched him, carefully at first, then gripped him hard and easily brought Ignis to his peak, as Cor must have known he was getting close himself.

And then… it was over. That was it. A flurry of emotions filled him, as Ignis felt Cor pull out again and climb off of him. 

Contentment. Loneliness. Longing. They could all build up inside of him while neither of them spoke and only cleaned themselves up. And all of those feelings threatened to spill over, but with the lights shut off, as they lay down together, Ignis curled in closer to Cor. They didn’t embrace. They were not the picture of newlyweds they should have been. But Cor leaned in closer as well, enough for Ignis to feel his body heat and listen to his steady breathing.

For the moment, that was enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another thank you to [He6o](https://twitter.com/He6o) for the artwork in this chapter!

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/181607841@N07/50611668191/in/dateposted/)

There was hardly time for a honeymoon, or any other romantic overtures expected of a regular couple. Not just because the border was on lockdown thanks to the stalemate with Niflheim, but even taking time off felt disrespectful given the situation and both Ignis and Cor’s positions and the current state things were in.

A few days, at least, Regis has insisted, if not to actually celebrate as newlyweds, then at least to carry on with the charade. They’d be under close scrutiny for a while- an ill defined stretch of time that could only be controlled by attention spans of citizens and how hard Niflheim pushed, but the more believable they made it, the less tension the situation would hold.

A few days. Alone. Together. As husbands. And husbands supposedly in love at that. Ignis decided with rigid determination that this time be used strategically. To learn Cor’s habits more than he already had, the small ticks and preferences that one would know of their lover. Or at least to make himself feel useful, failing anything else. He could cook. He could sew. Surely he wouldn’t be such a terrible housemate. 

Surely, it wouldn’t be so terrible to spend some time together, and Regis seemed to want.

“There’s a farmers market I like near the port. I thought... we might go together.”

Cor didn’t show surprise, as was his way. Their quiet morning together back in the apartment had been something short of awkward, nothing but polite spaces between them. They hadn’t exactly spoken about what happened on their wedding night, but then again, there wasn’t much that needed talking about. There was a pinch in Cor’s forehead as he thought the suggestion through.

“Yes,” he said, nodding slowly, “a good idea if we’re seen out together. Give me a moment to get my jacket.”

Ignis held back his disappointed embarrassment, agreeing and mostly absolutely not questioning why putting on an act for the paparazzi had only been secondary in his mind.

A quick ride, with Cor in the driver’s seat, and Ignis giving direction, and they arrived..

One of the few truly temperate days left before cooler fall weather swooped in, early morning sun shining through orange and yellow trees.

“Where to first?” Cor asked him, hands in his pockets and eyes fliting dangerously around the perimeter. As far as Ignis knew they hadn’t been followed but there would be no keeping the dogs off their trail for long. Ignis led the way forward.

Seasonal flowers and fruits, spices and homemade breads and other sweets. Mostly he came here for ingredients, stocking up on the best produce he could find for the week, and Ignis, after barely a day spent in the Marshal’s apartment had started thinking it might not be such a bad idea for him to make a meal or two for them to share.

“I didn’t even know this place existed,” Cor remarked, scanning a stall filled with squash and pumpkins.

“Most people don’t,” Ignis said, his nerves calming in the atmosphere, walking the familiar rows of vendors, and his relief in seeing Cor’s legitimate interest. It knocked him over each time, realizing they weren’t so far apart as Ignis kept assuming. That they shared more than just loyalty for the Crown.

There was a flash from behind them.

Cor turned sour in an instant, immediately spinning his head.

“It’s alright, let them take their photos,” Ignis said under his breath while taking a step closer. “Better for the publicity, right?”

“.... Right,” Cor said but the glare was still on his face, directed at the offender. The photographer wasn’t alone, their companion rapidly typing on their phone. Only a matter of time before they were overrun. “For the publicity, then,” he said, and turning his back to their would-be stalkers, Cor took Ignis’s hand in his and led the way forward, deeper into the market.

“I’d like to let you shop in peace, you know.”

“I know,” Ignis said with a slight smile thrown in Cor’s direction, before he went back to the task of picking out vegetables again. “But that wouldn’t make for particularly interesting cover page news.”

“Well then... if this place is such a mystery, how did you hear about it?” Cor asked, hanging by Ignis’s side while he looked at a wide selection of apples, but more focused on the fact that Cor had yet to let go of his hand.

For the cameras, he told himself. Of course, it was for the cameras.

“A chef. From the Citadel. He caught me in the kitchens trying to make pastries for Noctis and I suppose he felt sympathetic enough to help. With the pastries, and then later on with other cooking experiments. I daresay I wouldn’t have gotten very far without him”

The next stall over was full of jams and jars of raw honey, and the woman tending the stall gave Ignis a familiar greeting as he walked over. 

“And here I thought you had a knack for cooking all on your own,” Cor said with humor, watching as Ignis extracted his hand (with some remorse) to pick out his honey of choice and pay the woman her fee.

“We can’t all be born naturals, like yourself.”

Cor laughed, something self deprecating but hardly offended, and Ignis soothed his words by offering up his gift.

“For you,” he said, holding up his purchase, and Cor looked at him curiously. “You’re out of honey.”

“Oh,” Cor said, clearly surprised, “Thanks. I wasn’t aware.”

Ignis looked up at him, heart fluttering with the cool breeze and trying hard not to show his naked emotions. That he knew Cor always drank his coffee black at the Citadel, in the mornings, but at night he came home and favored tea. Ginger and turmeric, sweetened with a spoonful of honey.

There was a flash. And Cor’s full scowl was back on display.

Their entourage had grown now, cameras and tittering paparazzi working for gossip rags. Ignis put a hand on his arm, as if to calm him, but Cor looked back at him with levity and if Ignis wasn’t mistaken, just a touch of humor along with the exasperation. Ignis very much did not want to leave yet. He wanted Cor to take hold of his hand again.

“I think they’ve had enough fun,” Cor said, “and you still have your shopping to do.”

Ignis relented, feeling a little bit giddy as he watched Cor, in full on disciplinary Marshal mode, march over to the gathering crowd of rubberneckers and quickly got them to disperse in fear. It was difficult not be amused, or to let the good weather and clear sky let Ignis’s mood soar. Especially when Cor came back to him, satisfied with his work, and said nothing when Ignis hesitantly reached out and laced their hands together again.

* * *

His farmer’s market trip wasn’t all for show, as Ignis aimed to put his best foot forward, be the best husband he could be. Even if their marriage was built on lies and deception and-

The fact of the matter was they were stuck with each other. Not even a political marriage, where they could each go about their own business after the knot was tied, but an entire life that needed building around the lie instead. So if there were to follow through on this song and dance, then Ignis would aim to be the best he could. For his husband.

They hadn’t been living together long, but Ignis was perceptive and growing accustomed to habits. 

Like coffee in the morning and tea at night, that sometimes Cor was up at 3 in the morning, restless. That before it rained he started rubbing an old injury on his right hip as if it pained him, and yet refused to take pain medication. He was a fan of nature documentaries- or at least falling asleep in front of them, after long days at work and not enough sleep. Noctis would have mocked him for it- mocked them both. Cor for being such an _old man_ , and Ignis for finding it endearing. He learned that Cor didn’t care much for sweets, but he liked apple pie and berry cobbler (which Ignis had made with fresh fruit from the farmer’s market, a place that Cor was keen on going back to again when Ignis suggested it), and Cor, just as in tuned to Ignis’s habits in his own way, had started casually leaving things for him in the cabinets and the refrigerator. His favorite brand of coffee grounds. Cuts of meat from the butcher’s shop down the street, the one that Ignis preferred but rarely had a chance to visit. And soon it wasn’t just one cup of tea at night, but two. One for Cor, and one for Ignis. Both sweetened with raw honey. 

“So how’s married life treating you?”

Gladio was waiting for Ignis in the park, takeaway cup of coffee hot and ready, passed over as soon as Ignis hunted him down. It was blustery, with enough bite in the air to tingle his ears and nose, but Ignis was happy for the midday escape. Though he was somewhat surprised by Gladio’s choice in conversation topic. Since the wedding he hadn’t brought the subject up, maybe too afraid of making things awkward or letting too much slip. Ignis had been grateful for it, and yet, some other side of him was grateful for the question now. He’d been stewing things over in his own head for far too long. And at least Gladio knew the truth.

And… Gladio had experience with these sorts of things.

“Things are… fine,” Ignis said, eyes down and taking a sip of his drink. He could feel Gladio staring him down though, and they’d known each other long enough that he could pick out most of Ignis's sidestepping and untruths. 

“ _Fine?_ ” Gladio asked him, disbelief clear in his tone. “Fine?” He said again, “just... fine?”

“Yes, fine,” Ignis said, determinedly not meeting Gladio’s eyes as he straightened his scarf against the wind. “We’ve been getting along fine.”

“That’s it?” Gladio pressed him again, and Ignis knew this wasn’t something that he would so easily let go. “Iggy you’re married to the _Marshal_ ,” he said before his voice went low and conspiratorial, “who you have a _thing_ for.”

“ _I’m well aware_ ,” Ignis hissed back, but a quick look around told him there was no one around to listen in. 

“Sorry, I just thought…” Gladio stopped, surged forward and tried again, “I mean, I know the circumstances are kind of weird. But if you really like each other, then…”

“I don’t know what Cor feels towards me,” Ignis admitted, doing a terrible job of keeping his misery to himself. The last thing he meant to do was come to Gladio and mope, but his head had been spinning for weeks. There was comfort in finally being able to speak it out loud.

“Iggy, I don’t think he’d agree to marrying you if he didn’t like you at least a little bit,” Gladio was gentle, just a little bit teasing, but Ignis was too frazzled and emotionally drained to grant him the smile he was trying to coax out. 

“It’s the Marshal,” he said, full of defeat, “if anyone was to sacrifice their personal life out of a sense of duty…” Ignis couldn’t finish the sentence. A desperate part of him wanted to laugh at the fact that that _anyone_ prepared to be the martyr could just as easily be him. 

“Well are you guys… do you... y’know…”

Ignis felt himself flush. “I don’t see why I should answer that question,” Ignis said, with more force than necessary but it only served to make Gladio laugh. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“No, we-” Ignis grimaced. No use in avoiding it now. “Only... the once. On our wedding night. And _don’t_ go making any assumptions about that,” Ignis added when he saw the smirk appear on Gladio’s face. “It would have been more suspicious if we hadn’t-”

“C’mon Iggy, pretty convenient excuse, isn’t it?”

“It’s not an excuse,” he said, and then briefly closed his eyes, aggravated with Gladio. With himself. With this whole situation. Something Gladio was bound to pick up on, because he turned serious with his next question.

“So… what are you going to do then? I mean, are you going to tell him…?”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Ignis said, but to acknowledge it out loud made him cringe. It felt like any step he took would be in the wrong direction, and he’d never been good with relationships like this. But this was Gladio he was talking to. His oldest friend. The one person he could come to for advice. Ignis bit back his embarrassment and said, “I don’t know _how_ to tell him.” 

Gladio shrugged, as if the answer was the easiest thing in the world, “So don’t say it. You can show it in other ways, y’know.”

Maybe it was easy, for people like Gladio that could wear their hearts open and proud, that had actually been in serious relationships before. Ignis felt very lost in all of this. Made all the more uncomfortable by the fact that he was so used to being in control. 

They walked in silence for a few moments, as Ignis considered Gladio’s words and fought through all of his own reservations, but his problem was so embarrassingly, infuriatingly simple.

“Gladio, I don’t know how.”

“You’ve got to have _some_ idea…” Gladio started, only for Ignis to shake his head. “I mean, you’ve got to have a feel for what he likes at this point. Do something nice for him, or buy him a gift.”

“I cook for him.”

“Iggy, you cook for everyone,” Gladio said, shaking his head with a little laugh. 

Ignis couldn’t bring himself to say, _I cook for the people I care about_.

“I don’t have experience with this kind of thing, not like you,” Ignis said instead. “I… never really dated before.”

“Iggy, are you asking me how to _flirt?_ ” Gladio’s question was only half serious, and yet Ignis blushed all the same. Because yes, how else was he supposed to let Cor know he was interested, especially since they were already _married_. 

Gladio let out a full laugh then, thew an arm over Ignis’s shoulders. “What are we going to do with you?” he said, but the comment held no mockery. Just Gladio looking out for his friend. “It’s not too hard, once you get the hang of it, but it’s kind of hard to explain.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Ignis asked him, well beyond mortification that he was so lost in matters of love and relationships.

“Spent time with him. Laugh at his jokes, or try to make him laugh at yours.” Ignis shot him an incredulous look, and it made Gladio laugh again. “Alright,” he said, “this is the Marshal we’re talking about. Well, it doesn’t hurt to try and get close to him. Physically I mean. Small stuff, like sitting closer or, I don’t know, touching him more often. My girlfriends’ usually said something about being cold.” Gladio shot him another smirk. He made it sound so easy.

But that night, when they were both in bed, with Ignis’s mind still running full steam ahead, he shuddered under the blanket, wind still howling outside in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” Cor asked him, quiet enough that Ignis could ignore it and pretend to be asleep if he would have liked.

“I’m cold,” he blurted out instead. And before Cor could answer, or before his uncertain bravery could leave him, or better sense than taking Gladio’s dating advice, Ignis breached the dead space between them on the bed, and pressed his body against Cor’s.

A breath passed. Agonizing long from where Ignis was on the bed, but the reality was only a few seconds. Seconds- before Cor softened against him, and wrapped an arm carefully around Ignis’s waist, engulfing him in body heat.


	6. Chapter 6

It was some time until they had a chance for an informal celebration, everyone too busy clinging tight-fisted on their strung together peace, and hardly in the mood for a party. But there would be a party regardless, for appearances, if nothing else. One for friends instead of diplomats and whatever Royals were welcomed at the Citadel for the official reception. It would seem odd for the two of them not to take time for something as momentous as marriage. 

Assuming, of course, that they really were in love. 

Much as he knew it was a necessity, Ignis was hardly in the mood for planning. Thus it was a relief to hear that some members of the Crownsguard had taken the matter into their own hands, and had planned a get together for them at a local bar. Something casual. Something fun. Fun that Ignis was in no mood to have when the night finally came around. 

But it wouldn’t do for one of the guests of honor to sit in a corner and sulk. 

A drink was in order then, Ignis thought, as he and Cor arrived together. Fashionably late, of course, so that onlookers could see them walk in as a couple. There was a small crowd waiting already, Glaives and Crownsguard members, all those from the Citadel that had long served as both friends and coworkers for the both of them- an occupational hazard when loyalty ate up so much of their time. But so many of them had long been nothing more ton superiors to Ignis, not friends as Cor saw them, which only added to the tittering anxiety’. He had to wonder if Cor had spilled the truth to any of them, as Ignis had to Gladio. A second pass around the thought told him he’d rather not know. Not with their current company, anyway.

All things considered it was better than the official ceremony, even if Ignis quickly found he was sitting by himself at a lone table. Cor had been with him only moments after ordering him a drink before Drautos had pulled him away. Leaving Ignis, torn between the relief of a moment's reprieve and self consciousness that his husband should have left him to sit by himself.

He was saved by Gladio once again, smiling, as he filled the vacant seat across the table. Gladio who also gladly went and got Ignis another drink when he demolished the first too quickly, holding vacant hopes that alcohol might improve his mood. 

A third drink.

Gladio was dragged off by Nyx and a challenge to a game of darts, but then Noctis was there in his stead, baseball cap pulled over his head as if that would stop anyone truly determined to catch the Prince out in public.

“Highness,” Ignis said, I didn’t think you were even here.”

“What, and miss your wedding party? Hardly,” Noct said, but the good nature in his words felt a little too forced for Ignis’s liking. All at once he felt very stupid. Of course Noctis would know the truth; whether told by his father or picked up on intuition. Ignis hasn’t given him enough credit, and he could only hope that Noctis wasn’t upset or hurt, that he hadn’t heard it from Ignis himself. He felt like a very poor excuse for a friend.

“Hey, what’s that look for?” Noct asked him, and Ignis, feeling more glum than ever, plopped his chin down in his hand.

“My husband hasn’t been paying much attention to me, has he?” Ignis asked, not really searching for answers. It wasn’t what he meant to say- not even close. But by now the gin and tonics he’d been enjoying had started to loosen his tongue.

“Missing him already?” Noctis teased, but the laughter died out when Ignis, instead of laughing with him, downed the rest of his drink instead. “Sorry Specs, guess you need to share tonight. Last I saw he was talking to Monica.”

A glance around through the throngs of people and Ignis saw Cor was  _ still _ talking with Monica, in fact. He was inebriated enough to sign and let his shoulders slump.

“Aww, come on Iggy,” Noctis said, laughing again. “With everything going on you guys have hardly seen anyone but each other. You know Monica and Cor have been friends for ages. It’s kind of funny, actually. I think a bunch of the Glaives thought they’d eventually get marrie- uh. Ah.” 

Ignis wasn’t sulking. He didn’t  _ sulk _ . He just angrily mashed the ice around in his glass with his straw while frowning. 

“Hey why don’t I get you another drink?” Noct said hastily, already slipping off his chair. He really hadn't done anything wrong. Ignis has no reason to be cross with him and he figured apologies would be owed another day. But most of his thoughts were taken up by Monica and Cor, laughing together from his peripheral vision, memories of how long they’d worked together, close enough to function as a well oiled machine. It would not be so terribly difficult to imagine that their friendship was something more. Something Ignis was now in the way of. It made an awful lot of sense. Not just their comparability but the way Cor has kept Ignis at arm’s length. Never rude. Never cruel. Only... cold. 

By the time Noct came back to the table, Ignis was well and truly ready to blot those thoughts from his mind, no matter the means available. Those means appeared before him in a full glass, condensation beading on the sides.

As the night wore on visitors stopped by Ignis’s lone table to say hello. Noct was there to keep him company, and later Gladio made his way back over as well, more than willing to keep him entertained with meaningless chatter, and well taken care of with a steady stream of drinks whenever Ignis asked for another. 

A warm hand on Ignis’s shoulder brought him from hazy conversation as the night wore on. It was getting late. Most guests had started to trickle their way out and the bar held none of the boisterous conversation it was full of earlier.

“Ready to go?” Cor asked him, for it was cor’s hand on his shoulder, Cor’s clear blue eyes staring him down. Finally, Cor come to see him. His husband. Ignis wasn’t sure where the sudden surge of possessiveness came from, only that when he leaned in close to Cor and wrapped an arm under his jacket, some part of him hoped Monica was watching. 

Glaive Altius was nice enough to give them a ride home. Ignis was in no condition to drive, and while Cor looked as rigid as ever, he must not have trusted himself behind the wheel. They sat together in the back seat while Ignis, for once not feeling shy, scooted close and reveled in the attention when Cor wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

His husband.  _ His _ . 

Even in all the ridiculous circumstances that had led them to this point it was Cor’s ring he wore on his finger. Cor’s last name that was now his own. 

_ His _ .

The thought wouldn’t leave Ignis’s head as they stumbled up stairs together, his skin feeling too tight and warm. There was a cure for that, he knew. 

With the door shut behind them Ignis wasted no time in claiming what was his. Cor’s mouth and Cor’s body; he peeled off layers of clothes one by one. 

Whatever thoughts Cor may have been thinking, no matter who he’d spent the night talking with, it was Ignis he came home to in their shared bed. And Ignis could say with certainty that Monica was the last thing on Cor’s might that night, while Ignis rode him hard enough to make the bed frame slam against the wall. 

* * *

“Have fun last night?”

Monica’s voice was far too cheerful for the hangover Cor was nursing- emotional and otherwise. She’d been nice enough to bring him another cup of coffee unprompted, and thus he was obligated to let her stay in the office, much as he was very sorely tempted to kick her out. He settled for an unamused stare instead.

She only laughed, “No reason to be cranky,” she said, hiding her smile only a moment while she took a sip from her own cup. Herbal tea, most likely. She’d never been a fan of coffee. “I was under the impression that you should be anything  _ but _ cranky this morning.”

_ That _ was touching too close to a nerve, like someone calling attention to a wound you were trying to ignore by sticking their finger in it. He’d known Monica a long time, and considered her one of his closest friends. And he thought that she should have known better than to goad him into this kind of conversation. 

“If you’ve come here looking for gossip on my personal life, you can leave now.”

Monica’s eyebrows shot up, surprised that her playful poking had elicited such a harsh response. 

“Oh come on-”

“Monica. I can’t do this today.” Or any day, really. Just the lingering headache and rolling nausea was making the conversation that much worse. 

It made Monica go quiet at least, if only for a few moments while she leaned forward and looked shrewd. He didn’t like that; getting put under the microscope. Cor rubbed his temples and made a sad display of getting back to work, even if it was only a charade. 

“What is going on with you?” she asked. Slowly. Carefully. Watching him too close. There were sides of Monica that the Glaives never saw, her playful humor, or what a horror she was in the kitchen. But she was kind. That ran through and though. Kind and perceptive, and not afraid to be direct when she sensed something was wrong.

An infuriating trait, particularly when Cor was on the receiving end of it. 

“It’s nothing,” Cor said, with all the conviction of a slug. And Monica wasn’t buying it. 

“Did you have a fight or something? What happened? I mean last night at the bar you were…”

“We didn’t fight.” Cor was rubbing his whole face now, knowing there was no backing out. Monica would be a dog with a bone, refusing to let go.

“Well then what’s wrong? From the looks of things, you and Ignis are getting along, ah, just fine.”

“That’s the problem,” Cor said, feeling a flash of frustration, the seed of something he’d been keeping quiet and hidden, but it was growing all the same. “That’s  _ exactly _ the problem.”

Monica’s confusion was obvious, her unspoken  _ what the hell, then? _ etched in her raised eyebrows and disbelieving look. “So… your spontaneous arranged marriage that happened with someone you’d been holding a secret torch for  _ forever _ has resulted in a close physical relationship. How,  _ exactly _ , is this a problem.”

Cor was at a loss, grasping for words he couldn’t find.

“He’s young,” he said finally, like that should explain it all.

“Yes, and you like to act like you’re ancient, so I ask again: what,  _ exactly _ , is the problem”

Cor leaned back and rubbed his jaw, absently thinking he was in need of a shave. How to explain it so it would make sense, when the narrative of their relationship was nothing but a crossed web of outside influence and conflicting interests.

“We’re stuck together. He couldn’t get away from me if he wanted, can’t… go do things boys his age usually do. Date. Blow off steam. Until this whole thing passes, I’m all he’s got.”

“And…?” Monica’s eyebrows were raising higher and higher, and all Cor could do was let out a frustrated sigh.

“And so it doesn’t matter if we’re close…  _ physically _ .” Somehow, talking about this, now, with Monica was making him indirect in ways he normally wasn’t. Maybe parts of him were still clinging to the idea that any part of this relationship was private, or theirs alone. Like the look on Ignis’s face just before he was about to come. “It doesn’t matter if he got drunk and came on to me at the bar. Because I was the only person in the room he knew he could go home with.”

He heard the tap of Monica’s foot on the floor, clearly thinking on how to rebuke him. 

“Something tells me…” she said, carefully, “this isn’t just about physicality.”

“What else is there?” Cor asked and heard Monica sigh in frustration. 

“He cooks for you.”

“He cooks for everyone,” Cor said, dumbfounded.

“Not everyone…” Monica replied, looking at him like it was so obvious, what she could see and he couldn’t. “You’re not strangers that occasionally hook up. You’re both far too bad at hiding your feelings for anyone not to see it.”

“See what?” He was getting frustrated now, but Monica only slapped her thighs and stood up.

“You tried actually reciprocating the these he does for you? Y’know… Cooking. Cleaning. Showing you’re looking out for him?”

Cor stared straight ahead, unblinking.  _ Of course I do _ , he thought, followed by  _ … don’t I? _

“Think about it,” Monica said, and then left him to his own thoughts. 

* * *

Cor didn’t need to think about things for long.

He heard the news from Clarus who had heard it from Gladio; Ignis had gone home sick. Normally, for anybody else, it was only a small cause for concern. But for Ignis, who would rather work himself to the bone than be rendered incapable, who viewed sick days as a sin, it was enough to make Cor worry. 

Worry in a way that was more than friendly. 

And hurt, in the same way, that Ignis had not come and told Cor himself.

_ Nevermind _ , he thought, gathering the things he would need to work the rest of the day from home after quickly speaking with Regis. Regis who was looking at him with uncomfortable clarity, who had known too much from the start.

Cor didn’t need to defend his actions to anyone. Least of all people that weren’t Ignis. 

He was back in the apartment quick enough, careful not to let the door slam behind him if Ignis was sleeping- and from the silence that greeted him, Cor thought that might be the case. He walked, with light footsteps, to the bedroom, cracked the door open and peeked inside. The shades we drawn, keeping things dark even in midday, and there was a formless shape under the covers. 

Quietly as he could, Cor walked into the room. There wasn’t much he could do- he was no healer, knew nothing beyond basic first aid that might help him on the field. But Ignis was sick. And even if there was only a limited number of things he could do to help, Cor at least wanted to try.

To help. To care for Ignis in the same way that Ignis had been caring for him. Intentionally or not. 

The top of Ignis’s head was only just barely visible over the covers. Cor brushed his bangs aside, only meaning to feel for a fever. Ignis was warm, but not enough to be concerned, and when Cor pulled his hand back, he saw Ignis looking at him through the smallest slits of his eyes.

“Clarus told me you were sick,” he said, when it became clear Ignis wasn’t ready to do the talking.

He got little more than a grunt in reply, followed by the pinching of his eyebrows, and Ignis closed his eyes once again.

“Migraine.” 

That explained a number of things, but Cor was more surprised by the fact that he hadn’t known Ignis suffered from them. And the unfortunate truth that there would be little he could do.

“Can I get you anything?” Cor asked, careful to keep his voice low. A slight shake of the head was all Ignis could do to reply, so Cor left him in peace, the same quiet way that he came. 

His afternoon passed slowly. Cor didn’t manage much work, the silence too strong around him, as he listened for any noise from the bedroom, any sign he might be able to help. Still he powered through whatever small tasks he could, and the sun streaked across the sky, then started to set.

It was full dark by the time Ignis came out of the bedroom, looking tired, and unhappy, but not pained the same way he was earlier.

He tried to apologize, of course, because this was Ignis and manners were what he always clung to, but Cor was quick to cut him off. “It’s fine, Ignis,” he said, “I only care that you’re feeling better. Are you hungry? I can make you something.”

Ignis shook his head, but took Cor up on his offer of tea. They sat side by side on the couch, with two steaming mugs in their hands, and the lights turned down low. It didn’t happen often, Ignis admitted to him. Not so much to disrupt his regular schedule, and he had medication to take should he feel a migraine coming on. 

“I didn’t catch it soon enough, though, so it did me little good. I’m sorry for causing any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” Cor told him, sincerely. Earnest. As bad as Ignis felt he must have heard the truth in it, because after taking a sip of tea, he laid his head down on Cor’s shoulder and let his eyes close once again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again- a final thank you to [He6o](https://twitter.com/He6o)  
> it was a pleasure working with you!!

Ignis was laid out on the pillows, eyes half closed and neck stretched long, breathing heavy with Cor over him and indulging in every moment of pleasure. He looked beautiful in the barely-there light of the early morning sun, and Cor gave into indulgence, leaned in to kiss him while his hips kept thrusting, slow and deep. 

He would have thought it was a dream.

Half asleep, warm and tangled in bedsheets, Ignis had been curled up next to, Cor with an absent arm thrown around him, enjoying his closeness even in absent consciousness. It was times like these he could simply be, and enjoy having Ignis all to himself, without the constant second guessing of crossing boundaries, public appearances, and trying to decipher what was truth from Ignis and what was an act when it all felt real. Maybe in his sleeping head, Cor was someone else. A different husband that he hadn’t been forced with under such circumstances. It was harmless to let him fantasize, Cor thought, as Ignis inched closer, pressed his face into Cor’s chest. He woke in small increments, but never seemed inclined to pull away. Instead he pressed on even closer to Cor, let his own arms wander, and then his lips, brushing against Cor’s clavicle, then up to his neck. He would have pushed Ignis away- maybe should have anyway, if he’d thought he was still sleeping and in a half-imagined fantasy, but it was Cor’s name he murmured when his hands wandered lower before dipping inside of Cor’s sweatpants. 

How rapidly things had progressed and now Ignis’s legs were wrapped around him tight, hands wandering between clawing at Cor’s back and bunching themselves in the duvet, now bunched up around them.

There was a time when Cor had convinced himself the only acceptable thing to do in an instance like this would be to push Ignis away. He was taking advantage- a handsome young man, trapped in a political marriage, and all the weight of status that Cor carried along with him. And yet…

Yet again and again, the slightest interest from Ignis, the smallest nudge towards something sensual and Cor was on his knees. Metaphorically, anyway, seeing how much Ignis apparently enjoyed taking it from behind. 

“ _ Cor _ ,” one of those hands ran up to the back of his neck, fingers tickling in his short-cut hair. Ignis was close. He got greedy when he was close, all take and take and basking in pleasure, but Cor didn’t mind. Not when their rise in climax was mutual.

“Cor,  _ I’m _ -” arms tightened around him.

And the alarm on the bedside table started blaring. 

Ignis swore, something he didn’t often do, so accustomed to the decorum of having to watch his tongue. An arm shot out, and he smacked blindly at the table, his other arm still wrapped around Cor, and Ignis urged him, “No, don’t stop,  _ don’t stop _ .”

Ignis must have managed to hit the snooze button and the insufferable blaring stopped, but a timer was ticking down in Cor’s head. How much longer could they spare? There was to be a council meeting that morning, both of them were to attend and showing up late was out of the question. Ignis underneath him, moaning and urging him on again shoved those thoughts far into the back of his mind, and instead he had one determined focus; to make Ignis come. 

His pace grew faster, and Ignis voiced his approval, the bedframe josling noisily with their activities. Cor’s skin was tacky with sweat, he could see the same sheen on Ignis’s brow and he thought that no one had ever looked so beautiful. Even out of breath as he was, Cor stole kisses from that gasping mouth. 

The alarm again. Ignis made a frustrating noise, half frustration half pleasure, dazed and trying to shut it off again with an outstretched arm while Cor kept pounding into him. And it was like that- frantic, desperate, and distracted by their lack of time, that Ignis came, gasping Cor’s name all the while.

The drive to the Citadel was near silent. 

They’d managed to make a hurried escape from the apartment, after a shared shower that was less erotic, and more rushed, foregoing their usual coffee in the morning. Cor thought he’d have to make it up to Ignis, run down to the cafe when he had a spare moment and buy him a cup. To stave off an inevitable caffeine headache, if nothing else. And wouldn’t it just paint a pretty picture of the doting husband, bringing his beloved coffee straight to his office? Cor’s grip tightened on the wheel, in absent knowing that this was less about what others saw and more about this growing streak within him. This desire to take care of Ignis. To dote on him. To show affection in the only stilted ways he knew how. 

“I need to speak with Noctis before the meeting,” Ignis said in way of apology as Cor smoothly pulled into a parking space, his reason for dashing off instead of walking inside together. 

“Of course,” Cor said, expecting him to disappear immediately, so pressed for time, but Ignis paused just long enough to make Cor turn his head. And when he did, Ignis met him with a kiss. Gentle. Tender. Soft against the side of his mouth, and Ignis closed his eyes and let it linger. 

“I’ll see you at the meeting,” Ignis said, mouth close enough that all he had to do was breathe the words. And then he fumbled for the door handle and was gone, leaving Cor staring after him.

* * *

The meeting dragged on.

Not something that normally would have been able to shake Ignis’s ironclad self discipline and concentration, but his morning had been… different.  _ Pleasurable _ . And marginally embarrassing when he thought back on it, because himself and Cor were  _ not in love _ . They were not a true married couple that did things like have frantic morning sex before work and yet, somehow, that was exactly what they had done.

He tapped the end of his pen on his notepad. Stuck his chin in his hand, and tried to pay attention to the droning voices, and not prickle and tense at every movement from the corner of his eye, every time Cor adjusted his position. 

They were not in love.

They lived together and they were married, and Cor got him coffee on long days when he was struggling when he didn’t even ask and he was learning what Cor’s favorite foods were and he liked to make them during the week and he made Cor tea with honey when he was having bad nights and Cor had taken care of him when he’d been physically unable to himself and Cor had not stopped him that morning. Despite the fact that it would have been easy to distance himself, or slip out of bed when Ignis started getting close, and again when things started getting heated. Cor could have stopped him all those other times. Cor could have spent longer nights at the Citadel and never been home for dinner or he could have relegated himself to sleeping on the couch when Ignis moved in, refusing to share a bed.

But he didn’t.

They were not in love. They were only married. 

_ Tap. Tap _ . Again, the pen on his notepad, again he tilted his head, and couldn’t stop thinking about the mess he’d gotten himself in. If only Ignis had learned to keep his feelings to himself.

There was the sound of the heavy chamber door opening, enough of a disturbance that it wasn’t only Ignis and his fragile concentration that noticed. Quick and quiet, a Glave strode across the hall directly to the King, giving an awkward, hurried bow before leaning in and relaying some urgent message. 

It was odd, but not entirely out of the ordinary, when Regis’s attention was needed somewhere else that couldn’t wait until the end of an hours long meeting. What was different was the King’s face, turning more serious as the whispered message went on, mouth thinning and jaw growing tense.

“Meeting adjourned,” he said in a loud voice, with no preamble when the message had been conveyed. There was a pause before the shuffling started, Council members glancing around at each other, and then a scramble when Regis abruptly rose to his feet and everyone else at the table had to follow suit in the rules of propriety. 

Clarus of course followed his King as Regis briskly walked from the room.

“Cor, Titus.” Regis threw their names over his shoulder as he kept walking for the door, the only summons they were to get. Serious then, if the King should want his highest military men with him. For the first time all morning, Ignis was completely focused on the present, and aware of something looming in the back of his mind like a gathering storm. He watched the men leave the room, and before Cor left with the rest, he turned his eyes directly on Ignis, one last look before the door shut firm behind him.

* * *

“An attack?”

Clarus was the first to break the silence when Regis was done speaking. Not that he’d been speaking for long; the message was brief and to the point, no matter the complications and implications that came along with it, in the ever changing landscape of war. 

“Casualties?” Drautos asked, always practical if pessimistic. But given the lack of detail Cor doubted they knew so much so soon.

“Still unknown,” Regis said, as expected. “All we can say for certain is that the Empire retreated. Galahd drove them back.”

The shock of it was no less than the first time Cor heard it. Not just the brazen attempt to take over a Lucian territory in plain sight, in the middle of  _ peace negotiations _ no less, but the fact that Galahd- war torn, cut off from support, barely surviving on the front lines  _ Galahd _ \- was able to not just hold the Empire off, but to drive them back entirely. 

“We need to send reinforcements,” Clarus, again straight to the point. Regis had kept his distance from Galahd in the past, a minefield of politics and retaliation, a delicate situation when speaking of treaties with the Empire, when any aid would have been willfully taken as an underhanded threat. All bets were off now. None of that mattered when the Empire had decided to be so bold, not just tension and clusters of exchanged blows, but an all out battle. An attempt to expand their territory once again.

“That’s why you’re here,” Regis responded, not entirely dismissive, but letting Clarus know he’d been thinking this through. “Titus.”

“Your Majesty,” Drautos stepped forward, ready to take orders.

“Get a team of Glaives ready to depart by morning, whoever you can spare- go, now.”

Titus bowed, and left the room, ready to execute the command, knowing the quicker they made it to Galahd, the less of a chance the Empire had to find its feet and prepare a counter.

“Clarus.”

“Your Majesty,” he too stepped forward, always quick to serve his King.

“We’ll need to call a strategy meeting immediately. Gather everyone you can and get them to the Council room, I’ll be there as soon as I’m done here.

Clarus gave a bow of his own before leaving Regis and Cor alone for the final orders.

“I need you on the front.”

It wasn’t entirely unexpected, when Drautos would have his hands full deploying and commanding his unit, and Regis couldn’t afford to send his Shield away from the city at a time like this. A time when he as King would be more vulnerable to an underhanded attack than ever.

Cor sighed, resigned, as he let Regis continue.

“I need you to be my eyes. You won’t mince words and I need to know what’s really going on.”

“Galahd might not take so kindly to the help when it hasn’t been so forthcoming in the past,” Cor said.

“I know. And that’s another reason it needs to be you. They’ll respect you. They’ll know just how seriously we’re taking this.” Regis was honest at least. And if Cor was to be used as a symbol, at least he knew up front. “A few weeks, at most. I don’t like sending you away for even that long when I’d prefer your council stayed here, but…”

“But this is big,” Cor finished for him. This was an opportunity they hadn’t seen the likes of in years and Regis would be a fool to squander it. For the first time in a long time, there was a glimmer of victory and a sliver of hope. The promise of gaining the upper hand.

Regis nodded, not wasting more words on what Cor already knew. But when he gave a bow and turned to leave, Regis stopped him again with a seemingly throwaway comment.

“You know this will dominate the Empire’s focus. If we’re back to all out warfare and they’ve lost the upper hand, I doubt they’ll have resources to spare in attempts to weaken the Crown Prince.”

There were so, so many implications running under the surface of that statement, and Cor paused, uncertain of what was the right or wrong thing to say, only knowing that after the initial shock of the news and subsequent rapid-fire conclusions and predictions, he’d been pondering the same thing.

Regis was much more gentle when he spoke again. “The time for Ignis to need protection may be passing. We must wait and see, of course, just how things fall with Galahd and what the Empire’s actions may be, but…”

“Yes,” said Cor, oddly suffocated and uncertain. Something he was not used to feeling. The kind of weakness he couldn’t abide.

“Only something to consider,” Regis said, once again gentle and careful, like he knew this was dangerous territory for Cor, stepping out onto a frozen lake where the ice was still too thin. “You need not make any rash decisions now.”

“Of course,” Cor said, and then left the room before Regis could push the conversation further. He had packing to do, and a long journey ahead.

* * *

“An attack.”

It wasn’t a question. All in all Ignis was taking the news calmly. Better than expected, even, except that Cor had very high expectations of Ignis. And Ignis met them every time.

They were in Cor’s office, speaking in hushed tones. It felt necessary, if it wasn’t at all practical, especially when the news would spread soon enough. Noctis would be one of the first to know, which meant Ignis would be there along with him. It made Cor feel better about immediately pulling him aside to break the news. Necessity, he would tell himself. And not that he didn’t want to have to work this through alone.

“The peace talks are…”

He trailed off, the rest of the sentence unneeded because he must have seen the truth of things in Cor’s eyes. He explained what he could anyway.

“We still don’t know how this will fall.”

“But…” Ignis prompted.

“But… Galahd’s dealt a blow, and they’re not in a bad spot. If Regis can aid them… if they can manage to push Niflheim back…”

That hadn’t been managed in years. For the longest time there had been nothing but the incessant push forward of Empire territory and now the victory almost felt taboo to speak of. Like it was a temporary fluke and soon things would be back to business as usual. With the Emperor breathing down Regis’s neck demanding terms of surrender.

_ But _ …

But they had a chance.

Not to mention years of pent up frustration and a wild taste of success that was bound to have an infectious effect on all those that had been downtrodden for so long. What could happen from here was anyone’s guess and neither Cor nor Ignis had ever been of a mind to make grandiose claims or believe in the best outcome of a scenario. At least not without a contingency plan.

“I’ll be going to the front,” Cor said. Abrupt. No softening the blow.

“Oh,” Ignis said, quick to compose himself but Cor was learning to read him too well. The pinch of concern in his face. The slight surprise. “Yes, of course. Not just for morale but for strategy. It makes sense for you to be there.”

“The Empire will be far too preoccupied to meddle in the affairs of Insomnia, for some time at least. If not for good.” Cor had never been anything but blunt, and in moments like this he wished that maybe, at times, he could be gentle.

Ignis dropped his eyes before Cor could read them. And Ignis was always so careful not to give anything away.

“I supposed I won’t need to worry about being whisked away to Tenebrae, then?” Ignis said with a quirk of his lip, looking back up. But that smile wasn’t kind. It was sardonic.

“I suppose not.”

The silence that settled in the room is heavy and oppressive. It left Cor uncertain of what was better left said or unsaid. Ignis pushed on.

“When do they need you to leave?”

“As soon as I’m able,” Cor told him, feeling an uncertain weight in his chest about how his time was precious and he’d stopped it to have this conversation with Ignis directly.

“How long will you be gone?” Ignis asked.

“A few weeks, maybe longer.”

Another slow nod from Ignis as he processed all this new information. Then suddenly his words surged again, oddly flat as he spoke.

“Well... I supposed that should give me plenty of time to move my things out before you get back. Without so much attention it will be easier to say we’d grown apart and realized our differences. Especially with you being away.”

Oh, of course. Why else would Cor bring Ignis to speak of this in private, why else would he bring up their marriage pact and its irrelevance unless it was to consider the thing null and void, now that it had served its purpose. This was, after all, where things were always meant to lead. Ignis kept speaking.

“I don’t want to keep you any longer than need be, I imagine you’re already pressed for time. I’ll most likely be here late with the state of things, and you’ll probably be gone before tonight. We might not see each other again before you leave so…” he stood up, lending an awkward pause in what had started to feel like a nonstop monologue, but Cor didn’t have the words to try and stop it. Their marriage hadn’t been real. Staying any longer in a home that wasn’t his would only serve to make Ignis uncomfortable. So then why did Cor feel like the room was shrinking around him, like some terrible mistake had just been made.

“Stay safe. Goodbye, Cor,” Ignis said, and then abrupt left, quietly shutting the door behind him. 

And there, unseen and unbeknownst to Cor, Ignis covered his face with his hands. 

* * *

It was well past dark by the time Ignis was able to drag himself from the Citadel back home. 

To  _ Cor’s _ home. His no longer. A reality that Ignis had always known was going to come to pass, even as he’d fallen into the strange comfort of their syncronising domesticity, let himself pretend that they were something more. 

He’d barely kept it together in the office. It was much easier to rush ahead with practicalities in front of Cor, to say the decisive words himself before the awkward topic was breached. No discussion, for Ignis to spare himself of hearing Cor say it out loud. To kick him out. To end the marriage that had only ever been a means to an end. 

Sometimes, for as smart as Ignis liked to think he was, he could be so very, very stupid. 

There was no rush now, not really, with Cor most likely beyond the wall already, and a substantial amount of time before he was back, but… what was the point in putting things off longer. Clean breaks were supposed to be better, even if this wasn’t a breakup. It still felt like one, if only because Ignis had been harboring his secret feelings for so long. All the time he spent lingering would only make things worse, and with Cor gone on assignment, it would be near impossible not to feel like an intruder in his home. 

No, things were better this way. No matter what Ignis’s miserable heart wanted to believe. 

Sighing, full of exhaustion after a long and tense day, Ignis loosened the top buttons on his shirt, rolled up his sleeves and started gathering his things.

It was hard to realize in the day-to-day how integrated the two of them had become. But Ignis saw it now in the way his things had wormed their way into the apartment with Cor’s. How different the process of packing had been when it was just him. An Ignis that was a thousand years younger, gathering the things from his own room, where no one else had made a mark. Perfunctory. Something that had to be done amidst the whirlwind of political maneuvers. They were items in rooms not filled with memories, just a place to stay and things to use. Now he couldn’t look at the mugs in the kitchen cabinets without picturing Cor making him tea, or take his things from the bathroom counter without remembering so many bleary mornings, shuffling past each other in the small space. Showering together, brushing their teeth. 

For someone that had done such a careful job of hiding his feelings for the stretch of his short-lived marriage, Ignis was near horrified to feel them start pouring out of him now. Starting with a heavy feeling in his chest, a certain tightness in his throat and burning around his eyes. He was  _ crying _ . Or trying not to, anyway, but while gathering his things in the cardboard boxes he’d brought over, it was a losing battle. And something that made him feel particularly pathetic when Ignis had so long prided himself on control, and yet- impossible to fight or stop. The culmination of months of stress and lies and… love.

And of love. 

Ignis rushed to gather his things faster. 

He was in the kitchen, bent over a box, haphazardly packing his things away through bleary eyes when he heard the door slam open. 

It took a few sluggish moments for him to realize what was happening. The sound of the door, the hard footsteps coming towards him. In all his raw emotion and naked embarrassment Ignis looked up to find Cor, standing there over him. Blue eyes sharp and disarming as ever, looking tall and proud in full military attire. He should have been gone. He should have been  _ long _ gone, or else Ignis wouldn’t have risked getting found like this. It was pathetic. It was humiliating. He rubbed at his eyes, too afraid to speak and have his voice crack, but Cor saved him the trouble.

“Ignis I…” 

_ You what? _

“I wanted to see you before I left. See you again, I mean. I…”

Cor flustered. Uncertain. That was something new, and shocking enough that Ignis kept looking up at him instead of trying to hide his face. Which meant that, beyond all the doubts and uncertainty and carefully hidden feelings, he could see just that touch of softness in Cor’s expression. That subtle longing that Ignis had refused to believe he’d seen before. Cor took off his beret, as if to address his King. To address Ignis with respect.

“These past few months I…” Ever start and stop, ever fidget magnified as Cor clutched his hat, both of them awkwardly staring at each other from the dead space between them in the room. 

“I don’t want you to go.”

Ignis was fairly sure he was hallucinating.

“My life is better with you in it.” Cor finally broke that mesmerizing gaze, looking down for a moment and taking a breath. “I would like it if… if you were here when I came back. If you chose to remain my husband.”

Ignis was  _ absolutely _ hallucinating. He was stunned. Locked down by Cor and his confession, not knowing if he should drop everything and run up and kiss him or break down sobbing like he’d been trying not to do. It was too much. Too much and all at once.

“You don’t… need to make any decisions now. You can think about it while I’m gone. I won’t pressure you into anything, I just… I’ve come to realize what I would be losing, truly, if we were to part. And I want you to stay.”

An abrupt end to Cor’s speech was followed by an abrupt exit, placing his hat back on and leaving as quickly as he had barged in. He must have rushed back to the apartment just before parting for Galahd. Still stunned and processing what exactly he had heard, Ignis pushed himself back from the box he was packing, sat back on the floor. In all the conflicting emotions running through his heart, there was a little thread of excitement, a little pulsing beat of hope. All he had to do was tug on it.

Ignis thought of what Cor said, and felt himself begin to smile.

* * *

The Marshal sat alone in the back of a black van, bone tired, eyes closed, but his mind was running far too fast to hope for sleep. Especially not now, when he felt the vehicle slow, then stop, and pull forward again after reaching the checkpoint at Insomnia walls. 

Regis had often been criticized for his ways; bringing soldiers in while the city slept, they said it reeked of something secreatvie, like his dirty work was best kept hidden. Cor knew better. Regis was shrewd where he had to be, but not unkind, and in his roundabout ways, he meant it as a gift. To enter unseen, without fanfare, to grant his soldiers some peace after rough days and endless nights outside the wall. Cor hadn’t thought much of it in the past. He was back home either way, with or without the sun in the sky, but today he was grateful. A small miracle that he could proceed straight home and finally have an answer to the one question that had been gnawing at the back of his mind since he left. 

It wasn’t standard procedure to be brought directly to one’s doorstep, but the Marshal was a special exception. That and the fact that he was the only one getting carted home in the van. To go to the Citadel, then have him take another ride back to his apartment, nevermind the small morning hours they were in, it was more hassle than it was worth. 

With brief thanks to the driver, he grabbed his bag and made his way up the front steps. Still in uniform, though he’d long taken the beret off. He focused on methodical movements, one foot in front of the other, and not what would be waiting for him when he unlocked the door.

Cor took the elevator up, and unlocked the door. 

The light was on. 

In the kitchen coffee was brewing and Ignis, still dressed, glasses off, rubbing at his eyes, had a sleepless night of his own, from the looks of it. He would have heard, from the long chain of command, that the Marshal was to be back in the city tonight. He hadn’t heard Cor come in.

He set his bag down. Just loud enough to catch Ignis’s attention, his wide-eyed start, and then staring, only half-believing at the man that stood in front of him. He’d stayed. And lived on in Cor’s apartment sleeping in Cor’s bed, waiting for him to come back. In  _ their _ apartment. Their apartment. He’d stayed.

With no time wasted on words, Cor stepped forward and took Ignis, his husband, into his arms, happy to be home. 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/181607841@N07/50611669741/in/photostream/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now you may be asking yourself, is that title a jab at cor being an old man?  
> fuck yea it is babeyy!!!
> 
> thanks so much if you read this far, i very much appreciate it! this was my first time contributing to a bang and I had a ton of fun with it, and am currently feeling very accomplished (if slightly frazzled)  
> as always you can find me on twit @nonethelasttime


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